The Wise One: Book Three: Being
by FarenMaddox
Summary: Harry and Dumbledore race to destroy Horcruxes, but does Dumbledore trust Harry? Hermione's help is invaluable, but how far will Harry allow her to go with him? And if Harry refuses to kill Voldemort, how is a teenager going to stop the Dark Lord?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any character or location that was created by J.K. Rowling in her Harry Potter series. I do not currently earn or plan to earn money by these stories, and I make no profit from writing these stories other than my own enjoyment. Any character or location appearing in these stories that was not a creation of Rowling is a product of my own imagination and is not meant to represent her works in any way.

All the poetry appearing in this trilogy is my own writing, unless otherwise credited, and therefore belongs to me exclusively. Do not use these poems, reproduce them, or print them without my express permission. (Feel free to do what you want with the otherwise credited stuff, I got it off the Internet myself.)

* * *

**The Wise One**

Book Three:Being

Arc One

* * *

_Set the Stage_

The world is become a stage;

We put the pieces into place.

We need a little time to age—

We ask for one more day of grace.

We line up when told stage left;

The search for props now starts.

We act with souls bereft,

We play with darkened hearts.

The things we've been and seen—

(The things we now are seeing)

Not just a stage small and mean,

It's our lives and we are being.

* * *

"The question, O me! so sad, recurring— What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;

That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse."

~ _O me! O life!_ ~ Walt Whitman ~

* * *

Chapter One

It would be so easy to walk away, to forget, to go somewhere and simply live. He had tons of money and a comfortable familiarity with both worlds. He flapped his powerful wings, thinking on how easy it would be to let them carry him higher and farther, until his bright eyes lost sight of the city, until they took him so far away that he could pretend it didn't exist.

It would stop hurting, after a while. The pain of being alone was only sharp for a short time, then it would fade into a dull ache, then he would forget what it was like to love someone. Then he would be free. Truly free, not trying to get high on this illusion of freedom that soaring through the night represented. That desire for freedom—from responsibility, from obligation, from the feeling that his entire life had been written before his birth and he was only reading the script—was like an ache in him. It was like an injury that you could ignore unless you flexed the wrong muscle and aggravated it. But it would stop hurting if he kept flying. Just kept going after he passed the landmarks that said he'd been out long enough.

A dog barked, far below him. It made memories intrude on his careful, wishful thoughts. Memories of a big black creature streaking across a starlit Chilean landscape. Of that same animal being joined by another, in a dark forest, an even larger dog whose smell screamed "danger." Swooping low to tease, a quick flick of his wings to dodge the swipe of a paw, a doggy grin and his own screech of amusement. The memories made him adjust his flight and turn. The pain of being alone might only last for a while, but the guilt of abandoning them would never fade.

Besides, he'd only held Hermione's hand for the first time last week, and he'd be damned if he was going to walk away from something he'd started again.

* * *

"Morning," Harry said casually, hiding his smirk behind his cup. The two people who comprised his family were entering the kitchen with identical slit-eyed, stubbly-chinned, zombie shuffles. Remus was usually up earlier than Sirius, but he'd been at work pretty late. Apparently, assistant managers at Muggle restaurants got crap hours. Remus had mentioned that once or twice. But the awful shifts did nothing to detract from his joy at steady work, despite it being in the Muggle world. They were a lot nicer about medical situations that took you away for two or three days each month, if you call piling on work the next week "nicer." Asked less questions about it, at least, than a wizard would.

They both headed for the coffee pot, which Harry had brewed as usual, then spent the last fifteen minutes staring at, tempting himself with it. Since they were out of bed, Harry got the waffle batter he'd made out of the icebox and started cooking it. He'd been asking Molly Weasley's advice on several cooking charms, and she'd made sure to give him a witches' cookbook in thanks for saving Arthur—so it was no trouble for him to slice a few pieces off the loaf of grain bread he'd picked up yesterday and toast them without burning the waffles. He did give the waffles a melancholy look before spreading his all-natural fruit preserves on the toast and taking a bite.

Sirius finally noticed that he was drinking juice, not coffee, and was not happily pouring syrup over what was on his plate.

"Harry? What's going on?"

"Mmm?" he said through a mouthful of surprisingly good sugar-free preserves.

"What did you do to the coffee and the waffles?" Sirius asked sternly, suddenly far more awake. He held his fork like a weapon, pointed at his plate. "You put a potion in it, didn't you?"

Remus jerked and raised his coffee, sniffing at suspiciously.

"I didn't," Harry protested, scowling. "That's nice, you automatically think the reason I'm not eating waffles is because I poisoned them."

"Not poisoned, just . . ." Sirius glared at him. "What's in these?"

"Eggs, flour, m—"

Sirius cleared his throat.

"Nothing," he insisted. "I'm not eating it because I'm detoxing!"

"You're what?" Remus asked, the look in his eyes saying that Harry had grown extra limbs, at least.

"Clearing my system of all the junk, you know? I drink too much caffeine, and I've got all these preservatives and saturated fats floating around. I wanted to start eating healthier. I mean, what good do the workouts do me if I'm just going to ruin them with what I eat?"  
Both men eyed their waffles.

"But you'll feed it to us?"

"When did you say you wanted to detoxify? You'd have killed me if I didn't make coffee."

"So what you're saying," Remus said slowly, "is that you didn't put anything weird in the waffles. They're just bad for us already."

"Basically."

The two men looked at each other, shrugged, and resumed eating.

"This sudden interest in your health . . ." Sirius said.

"Is because I'm planning to live for a very long time," Harry said firmly. "So I'm going to take care of my body."

Sirius sighed.

"What?"

"You should have just said Voldemort came knocking again."

Harry pretended interest in the pulp at the bottom of his glass of orange juice.

"What did he say this time?"

"Nothing much."

"You're kind of overreacting to 'nothing much,' don't you think?"

Harry grimaced. Yeah, he probably was. And he shouldn't even let it get to him like this, Voldemort had been trying to goad him all summer. But it really just _pissed him off_ that someone could get into his brain.

Remus, who was closer, put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you got a raw deal with this, but we're proud of you," he said.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

When he stood up to put his dishes in the sink for Kreacher, Sirius stood up, too, and dragged him into a hug. Harry fought him for a minute, but Sirius wouldn't let go.

"You might not think so, but you're doing great," he said softly. "I love you, kiddo."

Harry sighed. "I'm still not going to drink coffee for a while."

"Oh, you love me, too? How nice."

Harry chuckled and pushed away. "Okay, okay, I do. Eat, so you can get cleaned up."

"Oh, that's right. The lovely Miss Granger is coming over this morning. I'll be sure to be on my best behaviour."

Mollified, Harry put away the bread and jar of fruit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius hang his tongue out of his mouth and begin panting, dog-like. Harry glared at him, and the tongue disappeared, but Sirius winked at Remus.

"Not my time of the month, Padfoot, afraid you're on your own," Remus murmured.

Harry tried not to giggle. That just sounded so wrong.

"What?" the two men said in unison.

Harry just shook his head. "It might be time for you two to start dating. Women," he added with a smirk.

They both tried to tackle him at once. Harry slid out of his chair, under the table, and was out of the room before they'd figured out he'd moved.

Sirius looked at Remus and grimaced.

"He's probably right."

"I'm not the one who's paranoid about leaving the house just in case Harry decides to try to get himself killed again."

"He'll be fine," Sirius decided. "We're going out tonight."

"I have to work."

"Only until ten! It's Saturday!"

Remus just laughed. "I think we're quoting ourselves word-for-word, from a conversation we had at the age of nineteen."

Sirius fixed him with a glare. "No changing the subject. We're doing it. Now let's get ourselves cleaned up so Harry's girl doesn't think we're a bunch of barbarians."

* * *

"But what about a will?" Hermione frowned. "If you leave such an object to another in your will, would they actually, legally, take possession of your soul?"

"No, because you wouldn't actually, legally, be dead," Harry countered. "This is the faked-death scenario. The will wouldn't stand up in court if the person was still alive."

"Oh, right. But say you were to—"

Harry shoved the book across the kitchen table and groaned. Loudly. They'd been studying what information they could gather on Horcruxes for several hours, and coming up with increasingly unlikely scenarios so that they could be sure they understood every possible situation under which one might find a Horcrux. He was worn out with studying.

"We've got to quit," he begged her. "Just for today."

"Pay up," Sirius murmured to Remus down the hall in the study. "He broke first. Told you."

Remus grudgingly handed over the Muggle pound note that Sirius was so fascinated with. They'd been betting on who'd tire of studying first. Remus had just been hoping it happened to one of them before he had to leave for work and take Sirius' word for it.

Hermione gave Harry a look of consternation. "But we have to figure out—"

"Hermione. The nature of Horcruxes has not changed since we sat down this morning. They'll still operate by the same rules tomorrow, and we can finish understanding how they work then. Now come on," he pleaded softly. "I've got you for a whole day, and we have to do something fun." _Like not be worried about Voldemort for a few fucking hours . . ._

"Fun? Like what?"

Harry shrugged, trying to think. "We could go see a movie, or go to Diagon Alley and poke around. Go out to eat. See if there's any good concerts. I could take you flying."

At that, Hermione shuddered. "I hate flying."

"Okay, no flying. Let's do Muggle stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean all the stuff that Muggles do! Let's take the tube, and we'll go to a museum, and then we can go visit Remus' restaurant for dinner."

Hermione perked up at that. The word museum was practically an enlivening spell on her. Museums were nice. Better yet, they were not Horcruxes, at least he hoped not, so they could get away from books for a few hours. He loved doing research, but she was ten times worse than him.

"Come on, it'll be fun to try to guess which paintings were done by wizards at the National Gallery."

Thus tempted, they set off, telling Sirius where they were going. Sirius was going out to pick up a couple of books for the coming term at school, anyway, so he just checked that they had their wands and told Harry to remember his training.

"What did he mean by that?" Hermione asked Harry as they headed for the nearest tube station. "Remember your training?"

"Know where all the doors are. Pay attention to where people are in a room, and where their eyes are. Watch them move, judge who knows how to fight. Stay on guard."

Hermione frowned. "That doesn't sound like a good way to enjoy a museum. Harry, there won't be Death Eaters there. Do you really have to be like that?"

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't even require effort, anymore. I'll be able to enjoy the museum. Unless it's really crowded," he amended.

"Do you do that at school?"

"I do it all the time," he said, giving her a smile to take away the strangeness of what he was saying. "It's almost second nature. Miguel, my training master, used to jump me at really weird times just to make sure I was paying attention. Even snuck into my room while I was sleeping a couple of times. I've been sleeping with one eye open for a long time and checking the exits everywhere I go."

They descended the stairs and fed Harry's Muggle coins into the machine to purchase their tickets. Hermione was obviously thinking about what to say. But when Harry turned to face the automated gate system and saw how many people were down here, and how shortly he would be in the middle of them, his eyes began roaming and he became very tense. He marched Hermione forward, feeding their cards through, and began to march toward their platform.

Hermione ran her fingers down his arm, catching his attention and loosening the fist he'd made of his hand. She slipped her fingers through his.

He looked down at her with a little smile quirking his lips. "You're not going to say anything? Like, 'you're a freak, knock it off' or something?"

"I don't think you want to hear that I'm sorry for you, and I doubt you'll listen if I tell you to turn it off, nobody's going to attack us. But I can remind you that I'm with you, at least."

Harry squeezed her hand. "Not sure what I did to deserve having a pretty girl stand by me, but I'll take it."

Hermione gave him a scolding look. "You've done plenty, so stop that. Now, let's go. I plan to enjoy myself very much, and you'd better enjoy yourself with me."

"Yes, ma'am," he laughed, and they stepped off the platform and onto the car. Taking care to mind the gap between, of course.

"You know, this place is a breeding ground for Dark creatures that prey on travelers," Hermione said brightly. "I'm almost certain that's why they started making that announcement."

Harry chuckled and squeezed her hand again.

"What?"

He shook his head.

"What?"

"I doubt you'll listen if I tell you to turn it off . . ." he teased.

She removed her hand from his so she could properly smack him on the shoulder. "It's an interesting theory!" she huffed.

He captured her hand and kissed her fingers. "Yes, it is. Sorry."

She had stiffened at the kiss. He carefully let go.

"Sorry," he said again.

"No, I am," she murmured. "This isn't fair to you Harry, you should have a girlfriend who can let you do that. I know you're just trying to be affectionate. You should date someone who can appreciate—"

"Stop," he said firmly. "Obviously you do appreciate it, since you know exactly what I meant by it. And I don't care about fair, or about other girls. I'm not interested in them. I'm interested in you. Even if you come with a few problems. Not like I don't have a few of those, as well."

As he spoke, Harry pulled her in to his side, putting his arm around her. She snuggled against his side. This, for some reason, she didn't mind. But then, they'd been able to hug all this time. It was the really romantic gestures, the kisses and the glances at her body, that bothered her. He rested a hand in her hair and breathed in the smell. She always smelled like flowers and a little bit like ink. If this was what she'd give him, he'd take it. She fit very nicely right there.

"I don't deserve you," she whispered.

Harry just smoothed her hair.. "I plan to enjoy myself very much today," he said in a teasing voice. "You'd better enjoy yourself with me."

She laughed, and he experienced the absolutely pleasant sensation of having it resonate through him, since she was pressed against him. He resolutely tried not to think about what he really wanted to think about. "Yes, sir," she answered.

Their determination to have fun and relax eventually melted away and became actual feelings of fun and relaxation. They browsed the gallery until it closed, then went to the restaurant where Remus worked so they could get dinner. For teenagers in the midst of a war, fearing they wouldn't live through it, they managed to have quite a good time.

* * *

"You can't tell me that Dumbledore doesn't know all this," Hermione said, her face set. "You're lying to me, or omitting something, which is just as bad."

Harry sighed in frustration. "I'm not. I never said that Dumbledore didn't know, I just said I had to find out on my own."

Hermione's hands were on her hips. She'd gotten up from the table because she was mad at him, and he wished she'd just sit down. "That's still omission. What's going on?"

Harry gestured at their books. "This is dangerous stuff, Hermione. Foul, Dark stuff. And Dumbledore doesn't really know me that well."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that for all he promised to, I don't think he was planning to share all his information with me. He doesn't trust me with Horcrux lore. He probably thinks I'll use it."

Hermione gave him a careful look. "Would you?"

Harry looked at their notes and cracked old book, spread out over the table. It was tempting. Very, very tempting. The idea was a little bit thrilling, and the arcane ritual of it was fascinating. Dumbledore might be right about him.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure. The type of sacrifice that this requires . . . I'm not a murderer. I won't kill for any reason. Especially not simply for my own gain. It's interesting, academically. But I would never do this. And I would never share this information with anyone unless I knew for certain they wouldn't, either. Having the knowledge of it is a power all its own."

"You're sure about me, then."

"Yes, I am," he said firmly. "Sit down."

She did. "You really think Dumbledore doesn't trust you?"

"Well, I think he knows I'm reliable. He knows I mean to see things through, that I'm fighting on his side. But I'm sure he finds me dark enough to at least think about using this knowledge. He seemed a little bit panicked when I told him I knew what the diary was, and he said he was too busy to talk."

"Why would he think that about you?"

"Because I am dark enough," Harry said with a bitter smile. "Why do you think I cling so closely to you and to my family? You guys keep me from doing anything stupid. So long as I have people I care about more than myself, I'll remember why I don't do this kind of stuff. Merlin help me if I lose all of you and don't have anybody to care if I live, die, or become immortal."

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," Hermione said sternly.

"Probably. I have very clear ideas about right and wrong. I just worry that I could forget them one day. Like if the Elder Wand was in front of me," he mused. "I think it's a bad idea, but would I take it, if my family wasn't there to stop me? Would I be enticed by the power?"

"The Elder Wand?" Hermione snorted. "The Deathstick? That is such a load of waffle, I can't believe you think it's real!"

Harry shrugged. "I don't really know if it is or if it isn't," he said calmly. "There's a lot of literature out there about it, so it's obviously based on something true. Maybe nothing more than the reputation of a fantastic dueller who thought it would boost his fame to claim his wand was unbeatable, and started a trend. But if there is something like that, I could totally see it tempting me. After all, I'm a lot more sure about what I'd do with it than what some other guy would do with it."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione moaned. "I didn't think you were so gullible. It's a fantasy, propagated by weak wizards who want to believe they could become great."

"So are Horcruxes," he said.

"Horcruxes are real!"

"So might this wand of power be real, then."

"If it was real, someone would have it," she sniffed. "I haven't heard anybody claiming it."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe they got wise when they saw the hundreds of years of bloody history and thought they'd keep it to themselves so they wouldn't get challenged for it." _It's what I would do . . ._

"Can we stop talking about silly old legends and get back to our studies?"

"Oh, fine. But I'm going to ask Dumbledore if he has any thoughts about whether or not the Elder Wand is real."

"If he doesn't want you to know about Horcruxes, what makes you think he'll talk to you about the Elder Wand?"

He sighed. "Good point. Well, good thing I like reading." He glanced up at the clock. "Oh, we'd better put the books away. I promised to make lunch for everybody, remember?"

Hermione was looking at him with narrowed eyes. "I still think this is an elaborate hoax, somehow. You are a sixteen-year-old boy who likes to read, cook, and keep house, and doesn't mind taking a relationship slowly. You are a figment of my imagination. That is the only explanation."

Harrry began poking around the icebox, trying to figure out what to cook. "The real explanation is kind of a long story, so that'll have to do. Stop talking like I'm perfect, I've pissed off the Dark Lord. And I leave the toilet seat up."

"What's the long story?"

"The way I was raised. Sirius and I had to take care of each other, so I just got used to taking turns making dinner and cleaning the bathroom. I already knew quite a bit about cooking and cleaning from when I lived with my mother's relatives, the ones I never talk about because they were awful to me. Reading was all Sirius's fault. He made me read until I liked it, let me read until I loved it, and now . . ." He sighed with great drama. "Now it's sort of an obsession. There's just so much to _know_ out there. Like all about the Elder Wand," he said pointedly, putting aside his playacting. "I'm going to read up on the legends about it. Especially the ones that say there were three objects that all went together. There was the wand, and something else I don't remember, and a cloak. I remember hearing a story about them, probably from Sascha. The cloak was supposed to be a completely invincible Invisibility Cloak. _That_ would come in handy."

"There's no such thing as an unbeatable invisibility cloak," Hermione scoffed, taking on the task of cutting up the fruit he'd gotten out for fruit salad while he went to work on slicing turkey and cheese for sandwiches.

"James had a pretty good one," came a voice from the hallway. They turned to see Sirius in the process of leaning against the doorjamb. "I don't know what happened to it, come to think of it, but your dad had this absolutely amazing Invisibility Cloak. We used to use it all the time, to get into trouble at school and then to do some of our work for the Order. Wonder if it got donated somewhere, a lot of their stuff did. You don't remember seeing it in those boxes in your vault, do you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't. Oh, well. I doubt it's the legendary one, anyway."

"Oh, you guys aren't talking about that Deathly Hallows crap, are you?" Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "It's just a fairy tale, number one, and I think this Horcrux stuff is far more important right now, number two. How's your research on that coming?"

"I've got a very good grasp on what they are and how they work," Harry answered promptly, although he was filing away the term _Deathly Hallows_ in his brain for future use. "What's left to do is find out how many he has, since he obviously has more than one, and what they are."

"Oh, just a day's work," Sirius scoffed. "How do you propose we find that out?"

"Convince Dumbledore that I'm not going to make my own so he'll talk to me about them," Harry muttered.

Sirius frowned. "He's not actually refusing to compare notes with you, is he?"

"Not yet, but I haven't pushed him."

"I'll talk to him. And rack my brain for what I remember about Voldemort to see if I have any knowledge about his Horcruxes lurking in there."

"Don't talk to him," Harry said. "I will. Soon. But feel free to rack your brain."

"All right. Since your research seems to be coming along just great, how's lunch coming?"

Harry flicked his wand and sent a stack of plates zooming out of the cabinet toward him. "Faster, if you set the table."

He smirked at Sirius, and went back to work on the sandwiches, but his mind was elsewhere. It was on his loved ones. On how much they meant to him.

_Don't ever leave me_, he thought, looking around the kitchen as Remus joined them and began pouring drinks. The three people in this room meant more to him than anything. They were his real reason for being who he was. _I don't know who I'd be without you_.

His mind flashed to the snake-like face that had picked at his dreams this summer, and he shuddered.

_Not him. I'd never be him._

* * *

_**A/N: **Aaaaand I'm back! Fair warning to you all: lots of stuff is going to happen, and the plot will advance fairly quickly, but as should have become obvious, this is a Harry/Hermione fic and there will also be plenty about their relationship in here. Now, since the Hallows and Horcruxes existed before Harry was born, they are still an integral part of the story, but I'm not planning to spend a ton of time on them, since we all know what they are, etc. Some major events are still going to be the same: There is still a Horcrux hunt. Voldemort still wants Dumbledore and Harry dead. Harry is still a teenager who doesn't always know what's going on. But hey, at least Sirius is alive. :-)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** I know this chapter was a long time in coming, but it gave me trouble. I ended up rewriting most of it. Anyway, enjoy! I will try to be a little quicker with the next chapter._

* * *

Chapter Two

"You ready to go?" Sirius said, poking his head through Harry's door.

Harry yelped, yanking up his shorts and snatching for his jeans. "Sirius, get out!"

"What, we're all guys here."

"Except the girl downstairs!" Harry hissed.

"Please tell me you didn't invite your girlfriend along for this."

"Tonks is here, you retard. Didn't you _hear_ Remus say that he and she were assigned to follow that Yaxley bloke tonight?"

"Oh. Thought that was tomorrow," Sirius answered, unconcerned.

"Could you please shut the door until I get my pants all the way on?"

"Sure," he smirked, retreating and closing the door softly. Harry could hear him sauntering down the stairs and was sure he was going to be relating exactly what happened. He briefly considered going out the window and Flooing to Hogwarts from the Leaky Cauldron, just to avoid the teasing, but he couldn't exactly do this without Sirius. And it had been an awfully long time in coming. Research, a ghastly number of firecalls to get permission, and more research. But they finally had the procedure right and Harry felt right about doing it.

Harry went downstairs calmly, only to find Sirius standing in the hall, turning to face him with a finger on his lips. Harry raised his eyebrows in question, but Sirius just jerked his head toward the kitchen door.

"No, that won't be necessary," Remus said, obviously answering a question.

"Are you sure?" came Tonks' voice.

"Yes, of course, I'm quite practiced with Disillusionment Charms."

"Ah, yes, all that . . . experience." Her voice sounded teasing, and it had the hint of an already long familiar joke.

"If you poke fun at my age again, I shall simply leave you to your own devices," Remus declared loftily, and Harry could just picture the private little smile he wore.

"I would never!" Tonks gasped with faked horror. "When I said that gray was an attractive colour on you, I was talking about your jumper! You know, like that time you said purple after the solstice was just in bad taste, I knew you were talking about Sirius' horrid jacket, not me."

They had both dissolved into laughter.

Sirius grimaced at Harry, but Harry was grinning. "By God, they're flirting," he whispered.

"That's flirting?" Sirius muttered, but then he was smiling, too. "Best of luck, Remus," he added before he cleared his throat and walked forward with obvious footsteps. Harry followed him. "We're leaving now."

"Oh, us, too," Tonks said, looking entirely sober now.

Remus was maintaining a dignified aura. "We both ought to be back within two hours, yes? Everyone knows the plan if someone isn't?"

They all nodded and agreed, then Sirius headed for the hall again.

"We're just Flooing. You kids have fun."

"Fun? Tailing that ape Yaxley?" Tonks snorted.

"I'm sure you'll find a way," Harry murmured, mostly to himself, but he wasn't really amused by the budding romance, he was thinking about his own plans. He wasn't looking forward to his own job for the night. He'd much rather be running around under a charm trying not to get caught by the Death Eaters he was spying on. He _was_ going to be involved in very risky magic and most likely get in a fight, only without the benefit of it including a pretty girl or doing anything positive for the Order.

He let Sirius go through first, to scope things out and make sure Harry wasn't going to get hexed the minute he stepped through, then he threw down some powder and declared his destination as Dumbledore's office. With a swirling rush of air and noise, he was there. He coughed, brushed ash from his shoulders, and looked around.

Everyone was seated calmly and quietly, so that was good. He met Draco's eyes and nodded.

"You ready?"

Draco looked a bit ill, but at least he looked like Draco. He'd been at the school half the afternoon, while Dumbledore explained to him the risks that were involved in what they were about to do (like the risks weren't obvious), so the Polyjuice had worn off.

"I was ready to do this months ago," Draco answered with a grim look.

"Tough. Told you I wouldn't until I talked to the other people in the DL and made sure they knew what was going on. Couldn't track down Colin until yesterday, as you know. They all say they don't mind anyone knowing they were part of it, and we're going to destroy that parchment Hermione spelled. So, let's do it."

"Wait," Draco said, licking his lips, and looking at Dumbledore, who was sitting at his desk with his usual aplomb. "You'll stop it if things go wrong?"

"That is why I am here, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore answered, smiling with confidence. "I am certain they will go exactly as planned, however."

He was here to witness this as much as anything, Harry thought. He'd helped with the research to be sure no one would get killed, and now he wanted to see them go through with it so an impartial (well, sort of impartial) witness knew it was done.

"Then hurry up and do it," Draco said, his face very pale and his eyes everywhere but on Harry as Harry stepped up to him and they resumed the positions they'd taken when they'd taken the Vow all those months ago. Sirius held out his wand and began to work the magic to remove it. Harry had wondered if it would feel any different when it was finished, or if it would just feel normal. A feeling of pressure began to build in him, and he began to worry. His eyes flicked to Dumbledore, but Dumbledore looked serene, so Harry tried to relax despite the feeling that he was a balloon being blown up. If it went wrong, would he just . . . pop?

When Sirius spoke the final incantation, the answer was obvious. Harry felt a sudden lessening of all that pressure, building in someplace he couldn't define and gone just as quickly. Draco's breath rushed out of him is a whoosh, and he looked shaken.

"Did it work?" he gasped.

"Test it out," Dumbledore urged. "I am quite sure."

Draco opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted. "Quite sure?"

Harry rolled his eyes. That seemed to give Draco the strength he needed.

"Last term, I entered into an Unbreakable Vow with Harry Potter," Draco said, his words all a rush. Seeming surprised by his own statement, he hurried on. "It was forced on me, not something I wanted to do, but my only other option was a memory charm performed by an inexperienced blowhard—"

Sirius cleared his throat, but Harry just crossed his arms and gave Draco a flat look.

"I was sworn to secrecy concerning the actions of a group of students calling themselves the Defense League, or DL." Here Draco paused. "Oh. I guess it worked."

"Well, I don't see you choking to death or anything," Harry agreed.

Draco gave him a very grim smile. "This means you're not sworn to protect me from the rest of the DL anymore," he drawled. "Planning an ambush already, are you?"

"I'm not planning a thing," Harry said, impatient. "There, you're free. Run off and tell whoever you like. The DL is over with, now that Sirius is allowed to teach combative spells in class again." And now they arrived at the reason Harry had avoided Draco all summer, other than to let him have what little pride he could muster. "If this was all that was standing between you and going back to your father and Voldemort, it's not there now. You can."

Draco smirked. "Are you waiting for me to say that I'm going there right now, so you all can follow me and put a stop to it or something?"  
Harry sighed, uncrossing his arms and stepping toward the fireplace. He didn't want to fight. "I'm going home. See you when school starts, Draco." Then a thought struck him, and he turned back. "I will see you, I hope. If your father doesn't believe you, if Voldemort is there . . ."

"Your concern is touching," Draco sneered. "A very good act."

Harry held his temper. "Whatever. Do what you like, get yourself killed. You're right, I don't care. Because when people know the consequences of their choices going in, I don't feel bad when they get what was coming to them."

"Ever the sovereign ruler of moral conviction."

"Thought some of it might rub off on you," Harry muttered. "I see you're the same coward you've always been. See you if I see you, then."

Not willing to waste any more breath on the trading of insults, he went back to the house. It was quiet, and he suddenly wished Tonks and Remus were still there, harmlessly flirting in the kitchen. Instead, it was just Kreacher, cooking them dinner. Harry thought he should probably be extra polite to the house elf, since he'd be leaving for school soon and the elf would start sulking over being alone too much. But he just went upstairs without saying a word and began to survey his room for dirty laundry. He had to start all the washing so he could pack his trunk. He, at least, planned to be there for the autumn term.

* * *

"Not purple, anyway," Harry muttered, not taking his eyes off the mirror when he heard Tonks burst into laughter down in the kitchen. There was the sound of a dish shattering, but that didn't draw too much attention, either. Tonks broke stuff all the time. "But something."

He was staring at himself, wondering what he was going to do. The problem? He looked too much like a goody-two-shoes, too much like an Undersecretary-in-training. Nice haircut, well groomed, and of course his school uniform made him look very presentable. And he looked very unappealing to a huge number of people. All the people who were crying out for Fudge's job, acting impressed by Harry's life before England . . . not to mention all the students at his school who now knew who he was and were going to have a hard time taking him for who he was. It was all the stupid newspaper articles, the interviews with reporters, the meetings with the Minister, and so forth. Harry was being forced into politics, and he didn't like it. Hated it, in fact. And people were going to start thinking of him as a politician instead of a fighter, and he was ready to do anything to divorce himself from that image.

His thoughts were revolving around his hair. Maybe he could grow it out into a mohawk or something, but he didn't think that would impress anyone. But something rebellious-looking. It was probably Sirius' fault, for making him dye his hair and grow it out all this time. He barely recognised himself like this, although he was happy to have his specs back and ditch the contact lenses. He met his own eyes in the mirror, happy to have his mother's eyes but annoyed with all the people who thought he was his father come again. Sirius never treated him like that.

He started to grin. He was going to go to a Muggle hair salon, but first, he had to call Hermione. He wanted her help finding a potion or a spell that would make his hair just an inch or so longer.

Sirius strolled in. "Well, they're off tailing Yaxley again. I tell you, Dumbledore doesn't miss a thing, putting them together on patrol three times in as many weeks. I hope he knows what he's doing, though. They might forget about those pesky Death Eaters."

Harry just smiled.

"What are you doing up here, anyway?"

"Figuring out a way to create a public image. I have to work with the Ministry, I don't have to be their poster boy."

Sirius' smile fell. "Oh, no. Don't do it, Harry."

"You don't even know what I'm going to do," he protested.

"You're right. That's why I'm nervous."

"Do you deny I need a public image? I've been in the newspaper all summer, and I need some way to prove I'm my own person, rather than my father or an extension of the Ministry. They're trying to make me into—"

"The Chosen One," Sirius finished for him.

Harry cringed. That little moniker had shown up in the papers just this week. It was the worst thing he'd ever heard. Chosen One? Please. The only one who had chosen him for anything was Voldemort, and he was getting pretty sick of Voldemort.

"I won't be what they want me to be, Sirius. You see why I have to do something obvious to prove I'm not it?"

"I see it, Harry," Sirius whispered. "I see it because I raised you and I love you. They're having a much harder time. So, yes, you have my permission. But nothing crazy. Please."

"It has to be simple and obvious."

"It does. Just do one thing for me? Ask Dumbledore's opinion?"

Harry snorted. "Not until he's ready to talk about the Horcruxes and the Deathly Hallows. He's pretending he doesn't know what I'm talking about and that he really will tell me his thoughts when he has more information."

Sirius frowned, but didn't have any new advice on that matter. "Just keep being who you are. He'll see that he can trust you with this stuff eventually."

"Eventually?" Harry repeated, eyes blazing. "We don't have that much time. I doubt we'll get another year before Voldemort goes from sneaking around doing household murder and starts touching off real battles."

Sirius held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You're right. I'm not the one you need to convince."

"I know," Harry sighed. "Sorry. It's just everyone else in the country . . ."

* * *

He had three aprons, all washed by the service witch at the inn, and he handed them over to Mr. Fortescue silently, unable to conceal the relief in his face that it was over. The summer had driven him mad. People treating him like dirt just because he was wearing the apron, and him unable to say a word back because he was supposed to be fine with being treated like dirt. Taking the Polyjuice every hour, pretending it was some kind of treatment for an illness he supposedly had, and therefore being treated even worse by the other staff and the folks at the inn for being filthy and diseased. He'd hated this whole thing. Fortescue and Tom at the Leaky Cauldron were the only people who knew who he was, and they were happy to do Dumbledore a favour, and everyone else had ignored Draco unless they wanted something from him.

It wasn't fair. He was the son of Lucius Malfoy, they should have been bowing and scraping to _him_. But he wanted to live, so he pretended he deserved their scorn, feeling the million little slights driving into him like needles all while smiling and saying he'd be happy to serve them. And it wasn't like he deserved it anyway! He'd done the job asked of him, hadn't he? He'd been polite and conscientious all summer! Was this just how people treated nobody wait staff all the time? What had any of them ever done to deserve it?

Except Fortescue. Fortescue had treated him with a modicum of respect, even deigned to tell him a few of the wild stories from his youth. And Tom, of course, who'd given him a discount for his room (his tiny, cramped, ugly room) because of how long he was staying there, and every once in a while brought up a butterbeer or an ale, "on the house" with a wink of shared secrets when it was the ale that he was still too young to drink. He supposed he could get Tom in a lot of trouble for serving it to him, if he wanted to.

He really wanted to leave, but instead he looked at Fortescue and said the words, the words that sat there bitter on his tongue, waiting to be expelled however reluctantly.

"Thank you."

For taking him. For treating him better than the others. For not trying to turn Draco in for a favour from his father. He didn't want to say it, he wanted to go on acting like he deserved it, but he'd spent the whole summer having it ground into him that he was nobody, now. Not to mention reading in the paper that his father was a traitor and slime, despite the fact that nobody had enough evidence to actually prove he was with the Dark Lord. Fortescue could have been treating him like a walking pile of rubbish, same as everyone else. So, he had to say thank you.

Fortescue just smiled, tucked the aprons under his arm, and said, "You're quite welcome, young man."

Draco parted ways with him with no other words spoken. He went back to the Leaky Cauldron and shrank his trunk, which contained all his worldly possessions, along with the new schoolbooks and supplies he'd had to hoard his meagre wages all summer to be able to purchase. He carried it downstairs to the smoky and nearly deserted room where he knew he'd find Tom. The hateful words had to be said for a second time.

"Ah, time to leave then, is it?" Tom said, a smile cracking open his wrinkled, craggy face.

"Yes."

"I've seen a great number of young people pass through here," Tom said in a quiet, just-you-and-me voice. "Going to fetch their school supplies, staying overnight before the train, all sorts of children with all sorts of dreams. You're one I'll remember, that's for sure. Can't have been easy, doing what you did. What you're doing now. Ain't that many who'll see it and recognise it, but it's taken a lot of strength. Dumbledore's a good man, that's sure, and it was good of him to get you set up. But it was you who saw it through, and that's something to be proud of. Good luck to you, sir."

Draco had to take a deep, calming breath before he could answer. "Thank you. For . . . well, thank you."

He rushed out of the place and hurried on his way to King's Cross Station. He'd taken his last dose of Polyjuice an hour ago, and he began to feel the effects creeping out of him, bleeding away the dark hair and spotty skin and skinny neck. He'd be himself, soon, and he stopped to put on the Invisibility Cloak that Dumbledore had loaned him before he continued entered the train station.

He hurried through the barrier and then pressed himself up against a pillar to wait. He'd be the last to board the Hogwarts Express, not wanting to get knocked into by any of the students milling around calling out greetings and trying to wrestle their luggage onto the train. He didn't want to reveal himself until he was on the train. He could have boarded under disguise, but he thought it might cause a bit of trouble if he suddenly transformed into himself right in the middle of a train compartment. Anyone who'd seen him over the summer would figure it out and possibly get Fortescue or Tom killed. He just didn't want to get ambushed before getting on the train, that was all. So he'd stay under the Cloak until the last possible moment.

He kept an eye out, wondering if his father would come down here to look for him. Or if he'd send someone to do it. Draco didn't know who they'd be, but he thought he'd know them if he saw them. Whether it could be proved or not, his father was one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, so any one of them might come down here to wipe the smear off the family tree.

He tried to catch sight of Potter, wanting to see where he boarded so Draco could make a point of avoiding that part of the train. But the billowing steam kept hiding, revealing, and hiding again, so it was impossible. He didn't want to see him. He'd been dismissed. He'd had a strange, untrusting sort of a friendship with Evan Rivers, but Harry bloody Potter had broken the Vow and walked away, declaring that Draco was no longer worth it without having to say a word. He thought of Draco as a coward, as a weakling. And he'd decided to sever their ties and move on.

But Draco wasn't. Tom had as good as said so. He _had_ made it through the summer. He wasn't dead and he hadn't dumped ice cream over anyone's head. He might not have chosen a side in this war, but that was because he was _careful_, not spineless. He had to be sure he was making the right choice, didn't he? He had hardly concerned himself with the ideologies at work. In his mind, it was a matter of choosing his father and the Dark Lord, or Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

The train would be leaving in half a minute, and there was the female Weasley only just squeezing onto the train, her hair an affront to the world if her tardiness wasn't already. Draco slipped onto the train. And he sought out the compartment containing Harry Potter. He wanted to see him. See if there was any sign that he'd given a single thought to Draco Malfoy since the moment he'd left Dumbledore's office. See if he recognised the struggle Draco had gone through, knowing he could have left Tom and Fortescue and gone to his father three weeks ago, and he hadn't done it.

He found him sitting with Neville Longbottom, the creepy Ravenclaw Luna, and two Hufflepuffs from the DL, named Hannah something and something Macmillan. They were all laughing and talking, old friends seeing one another after being apart. Potter looked ridiculous. He was sitting there with his hair done up in green-tipped spikes, assuring the others that in the Muggle world, the style would hardly even draw attention. Stupid Potter, who could get away with hair like that and laugh with his friends like the whole bloody world wasn't looking to him to end a war. And Harry had his arm around a girl . . . Draco was stunned. It was Granger. Hermione Granger standing there beside him as though she didn't have a problem with his arm or his hair. And she looked fantastic.

Draco immediately looked away in disgust. She didn't, really. But she'd done something to her hair (though nothing quite so drastic as grow it out and make it half-black and half-green), smoothed it and pulled it back in a clip so that it fell in lustrous waves over her shoulders. Her usually pale face was flushed with colour, with spots of happy pink in her cheeks. And her smile, something that Draco had rarely seen in five years of sharing a classroom and dining room, was radiant. She was beautiful. Well, for a Mudblood. For Merlin's sake, of course he'd never noticed what she looked like, she was a Muggleborn, he didn't look at girls like her. But he couldn't help looking now. It was a strange transformation. Even when she'd shown up to that ball fourth year looking all done up, she was shy and skinny. Now she was beaming, and her thin frame had developed all those lovely curves . . .

"He did that to her," Draco muttered. The attention of an international Quidditch star had made her put on a pretty dress that only accentuated how awkward she really was. A scar-headed freak who'd run off and snuck back into the country like a coward had made her like this. How could he have seen all her potential, and brought it out? Draco hadn't thought there was anything to bring out, and he wouldn't have known how to do it if he had. Not that he'd have wanted to, not with Granger.

"We've got to get to the prefects' compartment for a quick meeting," the Hannah girl was saying, sounding apologetic. "Come on, Ernie."

"I'm, er, coming with you," Neville stammered out. They all looked at him in surprise. "I've been added on, they thought we could use a few more. There'll be a lot more hall patrols with the way things are . . . I saw Ginny a moment ago, she's got a badge now as well," he said, trying to change the subject.

"Excellent," Ernie said, sounding a bit pompous as he clapped Neville on the back. "Nice to know we've got some well-trained prefects with us this year. I tell you, Riv— er, Potter, the DL was the best thing you could have done. We're much better equipped this year."

There was a few more quick laughs, promises to come back after the meeting, then the three prefects were bursting out into the hall. Draco jumped to the side, holding his breath even though his heart was hammering. Prefect! _He_ was a prefect! Was he still? He still had the badge, and Dumbledore hadn't said anything about it. He supposed he must be. Merlin, that meant he ought to be going down to the meeting as well. He shuddered a bit at the thought of standing in front of Blaise and Pansy and trying to explain where he'd been all summer. It had been hard enough explaining his constant sneaking off to supposedly spy on Evan Rivers all last year. They'd never understand. And Draco began to realise this was some kind of test from Dumbledore. Would he have the guts to show up?

He was angry, and jealous, and he was starting to bloody suffocate under this ridiculous cloak. He tore it off and walked briskly enough to almost catch up the others. They turned around at hearing his footsteps and looked shocked to see him coming.

"Hello, Draco," Neville said cautiously. "Oh, that's right, you're a prefect, too." He turned around, saying to all of them in general, "Come on, or we'll be late."

But Ernie Macmillan was just looking at him with narrow eyes. "Potter told us we were all able to speak freely about the DL now. Told You-Know-Who all about it yet?"

Draco snorted. "Your family been murdered yet? What do you think?"

And he strode ahead, putting them all behind him. Merlin, what did a wizard have to do to get a little trust around here? What exactly were they all waiting for him to do, take the Mark? That thing was more trouble than it was worth.

The prefect meeting was torture. No one looked at him. No one spoke to him. They all kept shooting little glances out of the corner of their eyes, and looked like they were itching to ask him where he'd been, but no one did. Maybe they didn't care. He hadn't ratted out the DL, and he hadn't joined up too visibly for either side, so they didn't care. He was still going to be alone, while they all flocked around Potter and worshiped him and his silly green hair.

Didn't anyone in this entire world care? He could join Potter's side and just be some stupid little soldier, going around spouting high-flown ideals that he didn't believe. They'd just say how wonderful it was that he'd finally seen the light and tell him to get on with doing the same old boring things. And then he'd be stuck with Potter, that arrogant prat, and have to smile at his girlfriend, who'd been a frigid bitch until he came along, and pretend it was all fine.

But his father . . . his father would care. Father would be glad he'd returned. He'd have to pay with some information, to be sure. But honestly, why would he feel guilty about telling Father that the Weasleys and half these stupid prefects had met in secret to declare themselves against the Dark Lord? They were pretty openly against him, anyway. And he'd be able to report, at last. A year-long spying mission, complete. And it was as Father always said—the Dark Lord rewarded service. Draco could become great, if he went to that side. He'd be heaped with gratitude for what he could do, the way he was already a part of the inner circle, if he chose to be. He could strike blows that none of the adults could.

He would never get yelled at for serving the wrong flavour of ice cream. He'd be more than just one of several dozen students fawning over the Boy-Who-Lived. He could be somebody.

Not like Potter missed him, was it?

* * *

As Professor Snape was marching him toward the infirmary for some bruise cream for his eye (he seemed to think Draco wouldn't go if it was up to him and would let the black eye rest), he berated him for his conduct. He'd never take points off a Slytherin, if he could help it, but Draco did have a detention for getting into a fight in the common room. Draco suspected his annoyance mostly lay in the fact that it had degenerated to fists and Draco hadn't simply laid the seventh-year out flat with his wand. Professor Snape apparently didn't know how good it felt to hit somebody who was having a go at you.

"Just lay off, would you?" Draco snapped, pulling away from his professor and Head of House.

Snape's eyes were glittering darkly with rage.

"I got into a fight about . . . stuff. And I'm tired of stuff," he said stiffly. "I'm tired of a lot of things." He clenched his jaw and said something he never thought he'd say to anyone, much less this man. "I need your help."

"I beg your pardon?" Professor Snape said in a soft, dangerous voice.

"I need to see my father."

Draco was well aware that Professor Snape could arrange that. Father had been positively gleeful about Snape's true allegiances, and he'd mentioned them once or twice or maybe twenty billion times. It seemed to amuse him to no end that Dumbledore had a triple-crossing spy right under his nose.

"I need your help getting out of the school tonight."

Snape looked like there were many things he wanted to say. There was a war going on behind those eyes of black ice. Draco wondered what he was thinking. He had to judge if Draco was serious, and if Draco was doing what he appeared to be doing. Of course he was! He wouldn't ask to see his father if he didn't mean it.

"You will follow curfew tonight and join the other students in bed at ten-thirty. At eleven, you will get up and come meet me in my classroom. I will escort you to your home. Understand that I will leave you there, and that it will be your father's responsibility to see you back to the school."

The _if you survive the trip_ was unspoken, but seemed to be there. Professor Snape was not planning to be a witness to whatever would follow Draco's knock on the door, probably so he could honestly tell the headmaster he didn't know what happened to their missing student. Draco tried not to shiver and show his fear. If Professor Snape was doubtful, then Father or even the Dark Lord must be even more furious than he'd believed. But why shouldn't they be? In their eyes, he'd gone back on his family and his upbringing and everything a pureblood should stand for. He'd have about twelve seconds to explain himself, or he'd be dead.

So he slipped out of the hospital wing moments after Professor Snape dropped him off there, wanting to have the black eye as his first bit of evidence that he wasn't off on a lark. It would give Father a moment of pause, at least. Snape didn't even say anything about it when Draco appeared in his classroom at precisely eleven o'clock that night. Draco assumed that Snape understood, and was grateful to hear that Father had been warned of his coming.

But when he stood outside the palatial home he'd grown up in, hearing the rustle of their prized white peacocks in the hedges, he could feel his pulse hammering in his throat and wondered if the professor could hear his heart. He wondered if the Dark Lord was here. If he was about to die.

Professor Snape left him at the door, leaving him with only a spare sentence that was no comfort at all:

"The Dark Lord _will_ use Legilimency on you, and you cannot stop it."

Draco stood outside the doors for some time after Snape abandoned him there, pondering why he'd said that. Draco knew from listening to Father that Lord Voldemort did that from time to time. It was why they were so sure of Snape's true loyalties. Why would Snape have said that, like it was a warning? Draco wondered if Snape was questioning Draco's loyalties, wondering if he was here on some kind of Gryffindorish suicide mission to become a spy for his best friend Harry Potter. Draco tried a little self-analysis. What would Lord Voldemort find in him, if he cared to look?

Oh. Oh, no. The Dark Lord would see, and would be less than pleased, with his memories. Of having fun in the DL meetings. Of partnering with Potter or Weasley and working as a team against another team of DL members. Of laughing. Flying with Potter and enjoying it. Of wondering if they were actually friends, instead of enemies keeping an eye on each other.

Had Snape seen it? That was why he'd given Draco the warning, surely. But what could Draco do about it? The professor had said that Draco couldn't stop it. But that didn't mean he couldn't avoid it, or dodge it, or something, did it? Perhaps it was possible to hide those things. Perhaps he could screen them, somehow. Hide them behind something else.

Draco focused all his energies on the bitter feelings of being forgotten by Potter and the awful summer he'd had. He focused on his jealousy, and his rage that he'd been forced into this. He'd been mistreated, and then Potter had the utter gall to offer protection, like he had any to give! Potter, strutting around like a hero, and Dumbledore, spouting off about Mudbloods being worth anything . . . there was nothing for him in _their_ side. But serving the Dark Lord, that was what he wanted. He could reconcile with his family, and he could gain status and power, and he could serve his own beliefs. It would be great.

So he walked inside with confidence, and went to Father's study. He was stopped by the coldness in Lucius Malfoy's eyes, but he simply bent his head in submissiveness and began his story, just the way he had when he'd tested it out.

"Last term, I entered into an Unbreakable Vow with Harry Potter . . ."

* * *

He was smiling, but Draco knew better than to rise from his knees. He'd won his father over easily enough, and when he'd strutted into the Dark Lord's presence, he'd felt confident. Now he was shaking and staring up at the wizard in fear. Lord Voldemort had managed to humiliate him in seconds and terrify him in less than a minute. So he kept his posture bent and waited with trembling hands to be forgiven for his mistakes of the past year. Because he'd made them, made so many, it was just as the Dark Lord said, he'd been weak . . .

"I will not be weak again," he said, his voice hoarse. He'd screamed when he'd been subjected to his very first Cruciatus Curse—that had been inflicted upon him for assuming his mission of spying on Potter without getting permission. "Please allow me to serve you."

"Oh, yes, you will serve me, young Malfoy," the cold voice said in amusement. Draco now knew where it was that Father had learned to speak that way. "You will call me your master yet."

"I do. I call you master."

How could he not? How could anyone stand up to this wizard? He was proud and powerful and inhuman and to not serve him was unthinkable. To not serve him was death. And Draco had been promised so much. He focused on that, to get past the fear he was feeling. Lord Voldemort had promised him so much if he was a good servant. The other Death Eaters would look up to him and obey him, and Draco would have a place close to the Dark Lord. The whole wizarding world would look to Draco with fear and love, if only Draco would serve the Dark Lord.

"But what will you do for me to prove yourself to me?" he mused, his red eyes glinting with some private humour.

"Whatever you ask, master."

Lucius was still there, looking caught in a trap. Was he wondering if Draco would be placed above him, eventually? He had been alternating between looking proud and looking a bit sick this whole time. He must be jealous. Had Lord Voldemort promised him so much? But Draco could do more for their lord. Draco was well-placed inside Hogwarts, with links to Dumbledore and Potter. Draco could serve him in ways that his father could not.

"Tell me this, young Draco. Will you kill Dumbledore for me?"

Draco wanted to fervently promise that he would. But he didn't. He looked up in surprise at the Dark Lord and found something in his shocking eyes that made him pause. This was a test. His true first test as a servant. His answer meant something. So he stopped to think. Why would he be asked to do something that no one could do?

"You want to punish my family for the ways they have failed you this summer," Draco said quietly. "You know that I could never succeed, that I would almost certainly be caught or killed in the attempt. I am not experienced enough to do that." He bowed his head, trying furiously to think. "Is that what you want from me?"

If it was, Draco would find a way out of this. He could leave, he would go somewhere. He wanted to serve, he wanted to become great. He didn't want to die. If he'd wanted to die, he could have just kept doing what he had been doing until the Death Eaters were so angry with his rebellion that they came after him. He would have to disappear.

The Dark Lord laughed, and looked proud of him. "Since you are so eager to prove yourself, I will give you another task. You will find a way to get my Death Eaters into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"I will?" Draco blurted out, and shivered in anticipation of pain.

"The wards that protect the school are old and strong, and impossible to break from the outside. I give you the task of finding a way from the inside."

"You say they are old and strong. How can I . . ."

"You wish to serve me?" Lord Voldemort snapped, his eyes flaring. "You will find a way, or I will kill you myself, you insolent child!"

Draco ducked his head. "Yes, master, I will find a way . . ." he mumbled, closing his eyes and trying to breathe. He was not going to die, he was _not_ going to die. He would do this. He might not have the least idea now, but he would find a way.

"Then it is time to declare yourself as my servant, Draco." He had somehow conjured warmth into his unsettling voice, which was almost worse than the coldness. "You will now take my Mark."

Draco froze. Even his shaking stopped. "The Dark Mark?"  
"You will take it now, to prove to me that you are ready to be my servant. You are not one of my Death Eaters if you do not wear my Mark with pride. Stand up."

Draco stood up, feeling as though he were moving through water. The world felt slow and dull. He was going to have to do this. He didn't think he would leave here unharmed if he did not allow Lord Voldemort to burn the symbol into him. He wanted to leave here unharmed. He held his arm out, grateful to see that he was able to hold it steady. He didn't want this. He didn't want this, but he didn't have a choice. And one day, having this Mark would garner him favours that no others could have. It would be worth it.

It hurt. It hurt like fire, and it hurt like ice, and it hurt to the point that he couldn't feel it anymore. When it was finished, he cradled his arm to his side, numb and disbelieving. The snake coiling from the skull, there on his arm. A way for the Dark Lord to call Draco to his side, a way for him to call Draco his own. There was no way for him to go back, now. So he let himself begin to shake again. It was over, and he couldn't control his adrenaline anymore.

The Dark Lord—his true master now—didn't look as pleased as he ought to. "You have explained to me already that you waited until your school term began to come to me because it would create less suspicion. That our enemies would not be watching. But I see another reason in your mind that gives me concern."

Draco held his breath, squeezing the Mark on his arm and trying to quell the pain.

"I have seen you call that Potter brat 'friend,'" he spat. "Friend!"

Draco summoned up all the anger he could find under his fear, and held it in the front of his mind, bolstered by his awe of the wizard before him. "I once, briefly, called a boy named Rivers friend. I call Potter nothing. He is nothing to me."

Lord Voldemort cocked his head in a very disconcerting way, and slowly smiled. "I can see that you mean that. That is good to hear." His smile slipped away. "But your loyalty was to him before it was to me, and that will not go unpunished. It cannot. You understand that, don't you, Draco?"

Draco almost stepped back, but he stopped himself in time. Trying to retreat would only get him worse. Lord Voldemort raised his wand and began to speak.

Draco screamed.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** Hey, everyone! Sorry this took me so long! I seem to have fallen into a deep writing funk. I just spent a couple of weeks in which I would come to the computer, sit down and stare at the screen, and get back up and leave. I just wasn't feeling it. I think it's probably mostly due to sheer exhaustion of being in middle management in a retail establishment during the holidays, but I was also feeling very depressed about this story. I think I'm finally back on my game, and I plan to update more regularly from now on. In fact, I've started working on another story as well, and I've got five chapters so far! I have no outline or overall plan, it's just a random idea I had one day, so I won't promise a posting date on that one. It's a story about Al Potter that mostly takes place during his 4th-6th years at Hogwarts. I've also had an idea for a slightly AU fic in which Harry raises Teddy Lupin and falls in love with Luna Lovegood, but I'll have to see where that one takes me. I'm trying to write it first-person, present-tense, and it is really slow going. (So, what I'm trying to say is, I've definitely pulled myself out of my writing depression.)_

_As far as this particular story goes, I have a note to make on this chapter. Despite the fact that I'm setting the scene for Draco to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and Snape to kill Dumbledore, that is not what is going to take place. And while Harry is still going to go on the Horcrux hunt, he's not going to do much camping in the woods and wandering around without a clue what's going on. Um, that's all I want to say for now._

* * *

Chapter Three

"What would you have me do?" Severus asked in a hollow voice.

Dumbledore looked stunned by the information Severus had presented him with. That Draco Malfoy had defected back to his father and been asked to bring down Hogwarts was not altogether surprising, of course, but the fact that Severus had been given an even more odious task had taken him off-guard entirely.

"It is no great matter, is it?" Dumbledore said slowly.

Severus felt a burning fury that the man could so casually dismiss his own life, and Severus', that way. "No matter?" he choked out.

"You have already informed me of the limited time that remains to me, due to the curse. You are certain he wishes you to wait until the boy is successful?"

Not exactly. Wasn't the man listening? "He wishes me to be a useful spy as long as possible. If I can engineer your death during a Death Eater attack on the school, there will be no one to say who did it, and I can remain in my current position. But that is only the most convenient way of doing it. He does not truly expect Draco to have any success at all, and he has told me that I must bring about your death by the end of the school year either way."

"So he plans to deal the master blow this very next spring," Dumbledore mused. "He plans to assume a role of true power, public power, at that time?"

"That would seem to be his intention," he drawled, hoping the man would hear his impatience and explain what he was thinking.

"Then I have little time to waste. Severus . . . you will do as he says. If he is to reach his goals, you are the only one I can trust to stand between him and the students at this school. If I am not here, it must be you who assists Harry, who helps him ensure that his mother's sacrifice was not in vain."

Severus almost choked, but he was too good at schooling his features, tempering his responses. How dare Dumbledore even talk about her, talk about what she'd sacrificed? What was it to him? He loved the boy no more than Severus did! And now he was suggesting that the only solution to this situation was to carry out the Dark Lord's command? To stand between him and the school . . . Severus had known it might come to that, given how much Dumbledore loved Hogwarts. But Harry was a relatively new part of the equation. Severus was willing to help, but he didn't like that heavy-handed mention of Lily as though he would have refused, otherwise.

But what Dumbledore was suggesting . . . "So you wish me to kill you," he stated, feeling numb. It seemed that his whole life was about death, that it had always been and would always be meant for nothing but causing pain, bringing about suffering and murder. And now this man, this man of all people, was asking him for this.

"Severus," the man said gently. "We both know that it will happen anyway. Might I ask you the favour of helping me to avoid the worst of the pain, or the humiliation that would come if Voldemort made the request of another? Could you do that for me?"

No, he couldn't. It was bad enough, what he did to people he didn't know. The tasks he carried out, to stay in the position he held, so that he could do his part for the sake of the boy. He didn't think his soul could take the sheer weight of killing Albus Dumbledore, the man who had given him a life and a purpose in the wake of Lily's death. But it was Albus Dumbledore who was doing the asking.

He gritted his teeth. "If that is your wish."

"Thank you, Severus."

He said it so firmly, so calmly, as if he were totally sure of his chosen course of action, as if he sincerely meant the gratitude. Severus knew better than to doubt him, by now. He didn't lie. He avoided the truth when he thought it best, but he would not thank him for agreeing to this if he didn't feel gratitude. It was the only thing that kept Severus from breaking loose and screaming at the old man. This was the only way, but he'd counted on Dumbledore to give him some sense of hope.

"Would you please send word to Harry that I wish to see him? I have some things to discuss with him, as well."

* * *

He'd been ignoring the summons from Dumbledore for two days already. If he ignored it any longer, the headmaster would come looking for him, and the whole school would see him brought to heel like a disobedient dog. He hadn't wanted them to see him ask "how high?" when Dumbledore said jump, but it might be worse if Dumbledore had to come get him. So after dinner, when the Gryffindor students went upstairs to work on essays and notes, Harry dropped a kiss on Hermione's cheek and told her he'd see her later.

"I don't really know what this is about, so don't wait up for me," he said with a grimace.

She frowned. "You don't think you're in trouble, do you?"

They were halted at the foot of the stairs, and they were in the way of the other students.

"Oy! Just because you're the Chosen One don't mean you can be blocking the stairs!" a stocky-looking fifth-year shouted.

They moved over to the side, Harry chuckling.

"At least somebody's not taking it too seriously. I think that's probably what Dumbledore wants to talk about, anyway. How the students are taking it, and everything."

"They're taking it rather well, all things considered, aren't they?"

"Thanks to Ron," Harry agreed. He felt a burst of affection for Ron Weasley. The boy clearly knew what he believed, and with all the confidence his prefect status gave him, had declared loudly in the common room that whatever else he might be, Harry Potter had to be an improvement on You-Know-Who. Not only that, but they already knew him, and liked him, and what did it matter if they hadn't known his real name? He was still going to kick arse on the Quidditch pitch, at least. Ron had then invited him to a game of chess on the table closest to the middle of the room, and Harry had sat down and played with the entire room looking on. The sight of him losing a game of chess to Ron Weasley (who was an incredibly fierce player) had seemed to break them of their awe and contempt. Things had been more normal after that.

"I'd better go," he said to Hermione regretfully. He didn't try to kiss her cheek again. If he tried to push his luck, it would be three steps back for the one they'd taken forward. He jogged up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, grateful for all the running he did. He wondered how Dumbledore, as old as he was, managed to make this trek several times a day. Maybe he went jogging, too? It would be just one of the many secrets the man kept, after all.

He knocked and was bade to enter, as per usual. He really wished he and Dumbledore could start meeting somewhere that didn't make him feel like they were on such an uneven footing. Dumbledore's office was his sanctuary, and he was most definitely the one in charge while they were in there. Of course, no where else would have nearly the same level of privacy or safety, so maybe Harry should just admit that the old man had a good reason to feel superior to him (wisdom, experience, power, responsibility for many lives, all that rot) and suck it up.

Dumbledore sat at his desk with his hands in his lap, looking casual, not as though he had brought Harry here for a reprimand. "Harry, it is good to see you, my boy."

Despite himself, Harry answered, "You, too, sir," and meant it. It was hard not to feel that way, when Dumbledore turned those twinkling eyes on you and smiled with such warmth. He was genuinely happy to see Harry, and Harry had no choice but to respond to the kindness the old man had for him. He sat down, feeling more comfortable. He wished he could learn how to do that, of all the tricks Dumbledore knew. He made a person feel confident and welcome. Harry wondered what the secret was to that one.

"Welcome back, Harry. It seems that ignoring Voldemort's overtures has had the intended effect."

Harry thought of Sirius, sitting in his classroom and trying to reconfigure his lesson plan so that less kids wound up in the infirmary. He was overwhelmed by his relief that Sirius was there.

"Yes, sir. Sirius is thrilled to have full control of his classroom this year, now that poor Umbridge has been so sadly disgraced."

Harry faked wiping away tears.

"I am glad to have him back. I might not have guessed it when he was young, but he is quite a good teacher."

"The only problem is that now I'll have to respond to Voldemort, or he'll think I'm not a man of my word," Harry joked. Actually, it was a worrisome idea. If Harry were to go out in public, not to the Ministry building, or to Hogwarts, but actually out somewhere that he would not be safe, maybe Voldemort would stop killing so many people just to get a rise out of him? The only way to end the killing would be to do something reckless that would get him caught by Death Eaters and brought before Voldemort, and he had things to do before he would be ready for that.

"We'll sort that out when it comes up, I guess," Harry sighed.

"Has your first week of classes gone well?" Dumbledore inquired politely.

Harry thought over it. "Yes, sir, I think it has."

"You must be feeling confident after having passed on your OWLs with such skill. I know that you had some concern you might have trouble catching up in the classes you had less experience with."

"I knew I would have to work hard, and I did. I was surprised by my affinity for runes, but Sirius tells me I'm too logical not to love them. I did less well with Professor Hagrid's class, but I'd like to think it's because I have no experience with animal handling, not problems with the material. I was assured that I did very well on the written portion of the exam, despite my poor performance on the practical."

"A small bite on your finger is hardly what I would deem a poor performance. You would not be the first wizard to incur an injury. Your marks seemed to be more than satisfactory."

Harry grunted uncomfortably. Fifth-year exams should have been only too easy, in his mind. It shouldn't have taken him so long to get to that level, and if he was as smart as he'd always thought he was, he should have gotten an Outstanding in every subject. He should have paid more attention during Professor Hagrid's lessons or something.

"My dear boy, you mustn't allow yourself to think that you can be perfect, even on something like year-end exams. It is not possible. Not only that, but dwelling on something that is now behind you will lead to nothing more or less than regret. Regret is a tool, but a dangerous one that must be treated with caution."

Harry was startled, and cocked his head to one side. "I'm surprised to hear you say that," he admitted.

"Are you?"

"I was sure you were about to tell me that regret was useless and it was much better to dwell on the future."

"Were you one of my younger students, I may have done so," Dumbledore said soberly. "But I am certain you are old enough to know by now that past regrets can lead to more cautious and wiser decisions for a person's future."

Harry thought of the lessons he'd learned from the girls he'd known, and thought of Hermione, and smiled. "I think I've figured that out, yes. But what do you mean, that it is dangerous?"

Dumbledore's hands twitched, but remained in his lap. Harry wondered why. Wouldn't he usually have them steepled on his desk by now? He'd just been about to do that very thing, but instead he was keeping his hands hidden. Perhaps he was holding something he meant to show Harry later. Harry would wait until Dumbledore broached the subject.

"Regret can lead to bitterness rather than wisdom, Harry. And it is such an easy path to walk down. It takes a person of great self-awareness, one with a true and genuine desire to better himself, to wield a weapon such as regret with effectiveness. More often, it leads to anger, and isolation."

"If you're telling me that by being disappointed with my performance on the Care of Magical Creatures practical, I am in danger of becoming Professor Snape . . ." Harry said dryly.

Dumbledore chuckled at that. "That might be an overexaggeration of my point. But it is never too early to learn a lesson that you might need later in life. There are many things I know now that I wish I had been told as a young man."

"But would you have listened then?" Harry countered.

Dumbledore continued to smile. "Perhaps not. Young men are not always eager to listen to the advice of someone whom they feel is not in touch with their generation."

Harry grinned at that. "So you're worried that I'm not going to listen to you because of my hair?" He ran his hands through it, feeling like it had accomplished its aim. "I believe that you have a lot of wisdom I could benefit from, sir. This was just one of those tools you're talking about."

"Might I ask what reaction you have had so far?"

Harry knew that Dumbledore likely knew most of it by now. "Well, I've been called everything from Broccoli or Asparagus to Scarface to Chosen Prat around here. The papers have begun to refer to me as Rebel Without a Cause, but then there was that other thing they said. That I have my own mind rather than being an extension of yourself or the Ministry, and that I may actually be the last best hope for our world. That kind of made the whole thing worthwhile, since that was the goal."

"In hindsight, I think you probably made a good decision, so long as you can live with what you see in the mirror," Dumbledore said, not smiling at all now. "I was, however, very surprised when I was asked my opinion of your dramatic change and I did not know to what they referred."

Harry gave him a grim look. "Oh, I am sorry about not informing you. I just thought that since you weren't very big on communication anyway, you wouldn't want to be bothered."

Dumbledore knew what he meant, and he wasn't happy. He'd been pretending that he wasn't holding anything back from Harry, but Harry knew better. What made him most unhappy about the whole situation was that Horcruxes were only a very small part of the vast store of things Dumbledore knew about magic and the wizarding world, and he wasn't sharing any of them. He would probably trust it all to Neville, but Neville didn't have the right mind for it. He wasn't a scholar, he didn't love knowledge, he had no real ambition outside of defeating Voldemort. But he, Harry . . . why shouldn't Dumbledore want to teach him some of the many things he knew? Especially this topic, which was such an integral part of what he believed Harry was meant to do.

Harry went on before Dumbledore had composed what he might say.

"What's wrong with your hands, sir?"

"My hands?" Dumbledore asked innocently.

"Yes, sir. Your hands. You haven't moved them this whole night, and there were about three places in this conversation when you'd normally have put them on your desk. You can't have thought I wouldn't notice."

Dumbledore gave Harry a brief, sad smile. "No, I shouldn't have thought you wouldn't. You are remarkably observant, sometimes."

Harry was surprised and concerned by the tone of Dumbledore's voice. "Headmaster? What is it? May I see?"

Dumbledore put his hands on the desk, and shook the cuffs of his sleeves back. One was the same unmarked but rather wrinkled old hand, but the other . . . it was black and burned and dead-looking.

"Sir— Merlin. What happened?"

Dumbledore offered another sad smile. "I made a regrettable mistake, Harry."

The choice of words was not an accident, Harry understood. He'd brought back up regret on purpose. He'd done something with one of the Horcruxes that had caused this. Things suddenly made more sense. His caution with Harry was only because he didn't trust himself, either.

"Sir?"

"I was foolish enough to think I was stronger than I was, and wiser than I was. It has cost me dearly."

"But Madam Pomfrey could— or maybe Sirius or Professor Snape would be able to help. You don't have to lose your hand permanently, do you?"

"I am afraid that I will lose rather a great deal more than that, before it is over," he murmured. "Harry, I must trust you with the information that I have been reluctant to share thus far, because I will need your help."

Harry was stunned. He tried to think. Why would it be Harry, rather than someone else, someone he had known longer? Was there no one else? No, likely not. The only other person that Harry could think of would be Professor Snape, and he unfortunately shared Dumbledore's caution about letting Snape in on all the information about Horcruxes. If for no other reason, than because there might be a day that Snape's mental defenses failed, and it would be nice if Voldemort did not discover on that day that they were on to him.

"Sir . . . you can trust me. You can count on me. I am just as upset as you by what Voldemort is trying to do, this immortality he is trying to acheive, and I am just as interested in putting an end to it. It's unnatural. It's evil. But I'm very confused about your deciding to trust me with it. Why now? Why have you suddenly decided that it's got to be this way, when you've been fighting me about it?"

He hadn't meant to sound like a scared kid, but that hand looked nasty and Dumbledore looked sad, and he didn't like the danger that Horcruxes suddenly posed in his mind. Up till now, they'd just been objects, despite the scars the diary had left on Neville. Obviously, they were something a bit more than that.

Harry found himself clenching his own hands together painfully. "Please sir, just the truth. I have to know, if I'm to help you. If I'm really going to face him, I have to know it all." He was afraid that if he couldn't get Dumbledore to speak tonight, he never would.

Dumbledore nodded tiredly. "I touched an object containing a powerful curse," he said plainly. "Severus has contained the curse to my hand, for now. He assures me that even his skills will not contain it forever."

Harry nearly jumped out of his seat, and had to fight for control. "Sir. You're not— you don't mean that it's going to kill you?"

"Eventually, yes. I will simply continue to hope that matters will be resolved by that time." He seemed to be bolstered by the look of shock and fear on Harry's face. "Don't worry, my boy. I will fight it for every moment that I can spend working against Voldemort. I have not even come close to giving up yet."

"You aren't afraid?" Harry blurted out.

Dumbledore met his eyes squarely. "A person should never fear death, Harry. That is the mistake that Voldemort makes, and one which you must never make yourself. Death is nothing more than going to sleep after a very long day, and waking up in the midst of a wonderful new adventure."

"An adventure?" Harry said, trying not to sound derisive. "I could almost believe that it's like going to sleep, but that seems a bit too hopeful. Like a pep talk to keep yourself from being afraid."

"Perhaps I should put it this way, then: we have very few guarantees in this world, but that we will die is one of them. It has always made more sense to me to believe that what will come after is something to look forward to, rather than to fear. If we all must go there, just as we all must be born here, it can't be so bad, can it?"

At that, Harry smiled, and felt better. Dumbledore seemed completely sincere. He really did believe that. He really did have that assurance. Whether or not Harry might fear death, he hadn't really decided for himself. But it helped, to know that someone who had seen as much as this man considered it that way.

"But aren't you in pain? It looks pretty bad."

Dumbledore carefully shook his sleeve over his hand again. "I could tell you that I am not. But you will realise the truth eventually, and you, Harry, do not strike me as the sort of person who appreciates a comforting lie."

Then he was in pain, and it would likely get worse over time. That didn't sound like the sort of death that Dumbledore was talking about. "Then how can you call it going to sleep?"

Dumbledore was smiling again, with that calm assuring way he had, and it made Harry mad because he knew he was being an aggravatingly curious little boy and stirring up something Dumbledore likely didn't want to talk about, and yet Dumbledore still made him feel as though there was nothing more important than Harry's question. "When you become as old as I have managed to do, there are many little pains you experience and they stop seeming so important. And when you have lived so long, the chance to lay down your head and rest becomes very attractive, enough so that a little pain is a small price to pay for it. For some people, there is no pain in their passage, but for others there is a great deal. I have seen quite a few people who were murdered, and I would not judge by them. But I have also seen several people die quite naturally, in pain or out of it, and I can tell you that all of them let go of their last breath with a smile."

Harry tried to remember if anyone he knew had died. The only people he could think of were the two he'd learned of through his scar dreams— Two Rivers and Buster. He tried to imagine what they would have said about it. Two Rivers would have told him that death was just as much a part of the natural order as life was; death could not be feared because it was all part of the same whole. Buster would have said that death was a total mystery, the way everything else was, and that he hoped it would totally blow his mind. It was comforting, in a way, to think of what they would say. In their own way, they'd had a lot of influence on him. Two old men who'd seen much of what the world had to offer and still believed it was beautiful—just like Dumbledore.

"I hope that when I'm old, I can teach kids to love life enough not to fear the end of it," Harry said quietly. "I hope my life will make that much sense to me later on."

"And it is my sincerest wish that you will always feel that way," Dumbledore replied. "There is so much that you can offer the world, Harry. I hope that you will always be that generous."

"The pain will get worse, won't it?" Harry muttered. "You're going to be in awful pain when you die."

"It is not going to happen for a long time," Dumbledore said gently. "Severus and I will both work very hard to be sure of that. But when it does come . . . I do admit that I worry I will lose some dignity at the end. But there is a way to avoid that, one that I am not sure you could understand—"

"Sir. Please. I don't— I don't know if it's right for me to say this. I don't know if you'll appreciate it at all, or if you'll be upset with me, but— well, I have a lot of respect for you, sir. I hope you know that. And I really can't stand the thought that people might see you in pain and think less of you for it. Professor, I just . . . I won't let that happen to you. If I can do anything, to make sure that people don't see you like that, then I'll do it." Harry found that completing his thought took away some of his embarrassment, and he ceased to stammer. The man in front of him was one he respected immensely. He was not ashamed to admit mistakes, and to continue to learn and grow, at his age, just as he expected the youths under his charge to do. Harry didn't think he would meet too many people in his life like Dumbledore. "I'll do it, whatever it is," he said firmly. "You deserve that."

He was still afraid that it was not his place to say such a thing, but there was no one else, was there? Dumbledore was being forced to trust him, just as he'd said. Harry could do this much in return for Dumbledore's help in escaping the trap he was caught in.

Dumbledore looked surprised, and touched, and even maybe the slightest bit teary-eyed. "I did not know you felt that way, Harry. I am very touched by what you've said, for I know it came from your heart."

Harry was embarrassed again, now. And he felt a squeezing in his chest at the thought of the loss of Dumbledore, of how much the world would no longer have when he was gone.

"Sir. I've heard that you speak Mermish, and Gobledegook."

"I do, among other things."

"And that you have the respect of the centaurs. I know that you made a lot of advances in the magical sciences, discovering all twelve uses of dragon's blood, and all that. And . . . you know so many things. You know how to make people listen to you, and you know the history of this school, and you probably know why Voldemort is such a git."

Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap, which seemed to be his new gesture now that he had to hide one of them.

Harry took a deep breath. "How much do you think you can teach me?"

"I am flattered, Harry."

"I'm serious. I want to learn everything you can teach me."

Dumbledore smiled a little. "You are a very driven young man."

"I am."

He stood up slowly and walked to a shelf of books, pulling down two thick tomes. "Shall we begin here?"

* * *

Harry glided through the school on nearly-silent feet. Argus Filch, the old caretaker, was directly down the corridor, it was well after-hours, and yet Harry strolled past him without a care in the world. Filch didn't notice. Harry felt a rush of thrill and—dare he say it?—power. He was untouchable, for the moment.

The castle looked different, by night. Lit only by the moon, with the people in the portraits snoring around him, it was eerie and unfamiliar. He was breathing light, quick breaths and walking with soft steps, the way that Miguel had taught him to sneak up on someone. Once he was out of Filch's sight, he relaxed a bit, but he tried to stay quiet. No telling if there might be a teacher awake at this hour.

He considered going to Sirius' office and Flooing home to see him, but it was too late at night. Sirius would be fast asleep by now. Remus was likely only just getting off work, he was working nights all week because they always gave him crap shifts after he took two days off "for medical reasons." But he'd be tired, and Harry wanted to show Sirius first, anyway. Well, he'd probably show Hermione first thing in the morning, and Sirius right after that. Hermione would get all concerned and tell him not to get into too much trouble, but Sirius would think it was brilliant. He would feel the need to give him a similar warning about making trouble, but it wouldn't be all that sincere. He was still one of the Marauders at heart.

The cloak was warmer than he'd expected when he'd first felt the silky material between his fingers. He clutched it around him in the drafty corridor for warmth, and tried not to laugh at how free and clever he felt. He was invisible! It was an incredible feeling.

He marveled again that Dumbledore had kept the cloak so long for him. It had been collecting dust on a shelf for several years, but Dumbledore had told him only a couple of hours ago that he'd never been able to pack it up or give it away. He had never felt that it was his possession to dispose of. It had been James Potter's, and so it belonged to Harry. It couldn't exactly be considered a gift, since it already belonged to him, but it still was a nice gesture that Dumbledore had given it to him tonight. It was like a final declaration of the faith he was extending to Harry, a symbol of the new trust he was placing in him. He believed that Harry would use his father's Invisibility Cloak for good things, just as he believed that Harry would use the information he was getting for good things.

He finally, regretfully, headed back to his dormitory to go to bed. Invisibility Cloak or not, he had classes in the morning, and he was in danger of abusing Dumbledore's trust if he used the cloak to cause mischief tonight. But when he did get into bed, he just tossed and turned and couldn't sleep.

Seven Horcruxes. Was it possible that there were so many? How would they find them all? Dumbledore said he had a plan, and they were going to discuss it at length soon. But Harry felt a little sick. It was a staggering task to undertake. Voldemort was going to continue doing what he did, without any thought of consequence, because he thought he was invincible. He thought he couldn't be punished for the crimes he committed. And what he had done to make himself that way . . . Dumbledore was right to keep it as secret as possible. It only made sense to share the information with Harry, over anyone else. Harry had asked, for one thing. For another, Voldemort was planning to kill Harry anyway, so they weren't risking any extra lives in making this attempt. It was a good business decision, if nothing else. Minimalise losses.

Except . . . Harry didn't want to die. That just wasn't in his game plan. He wanted to put a stop to Voldemort, bring him back down to the status of a mere mortal, and put him on trial for his crimes. Force him to see what he was and face the consequences of his actions. Nowhere in that plan did he see room for himself to die, nor for Voldemort to do so.

The problem, he thought as he fitfully turned over in bed yet again, was that Voldemort's followers didn't play fair any more than he did. You couldn't block the Killing Curse, and they were pretty free with that one, weren't they? To track down the Horcruxes was going to be difficult. It would require all his efforts, all his patience, and everything Dumbledore could give him. Actually bringing Voldemort down? That would almost require him to take steps towards immortality, himself.

But dividing one's soul and placing it into something else by way of vicious murder . . . that was the wrong way to go about it. That was so very wrong. There had to be another way.

"If you can't sleep, O Chosen One, d'you mind at least being quiet?" Seamus croaked across the room.

Harry stilled his turning about and his sighing. He slipped out of bed and put the Invisibility Cloak on and left their room. He wished he could be flying, but he would never transform here at the school where anyone might figure it out. He wished he had a girlfriend he could go to in the night for a little TLC, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. That thing last year had been a one-time deal and his current girlfriend just wasn't up for it.

"No wonder Dumbledore spends half the night pacing his office," Harry muttered.

"If that's a student out of bed, I'll wake a professor," one of the portraits warned him.

He held his breath and glided on.

Did Dumbledore ever wish to be immortal? He seemed so comfortable with death, now that Harry was there to finish the fight. But how Harry was going to actually pull this off hadn't really come up in conversation yet. Maybe Dumbledore didn't know, either.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Neville was lost in his thoughts.

His own mind was a familiar place for him. He'd spent most of his time with only his thoughts for company for a great deal of his life. It wasn't always comfortable; indeed, his own thoughts had been full of self-pity and self-loathing for several years. But a lot had changed last year. Last year, Neville's replacement had shown up and started the Defense League, and also convinced Neville to reconcile with his teacher and mentor. Neville had started to feel better about the idea that Harry Potter was the one with a destiny when he'd gotten to know him and realised he was as capable as any fifteen-year-old could be of such a task. Neville had been busy helping Harry teach the more inexperienced members of the DL, even going so far as to help them outside of the meetings when they needed more practice, and he'd felt free to see Dumbledore any time he wanted again. Now he'd been asked to be a prefect, as well, and those duties took the place of the DL.

His mind was familiar, but he hadn't spent much time there recently. He'd been busy. He had friends, now. Real ones. Perhaps it was only natural, because they were all prefects, but he'd begun to spend a lot of time with Ron, Ginny, Parvati, and Ernie and Hannah as well. Of course, he wasn't friendly with all the prefects. There were Draco, Blaise, Pansy, and Veronica to consider; the Slytherin prefects were a frightening lot. He sort of felt bad about things with Draco, seeing as he was, technically, a member of the DL. But he'd chosen his own path, and it didn't include anything to do with Neville. He was trying to make good with his own house now, and seemed to be gaining status there.

Neville supposed he ought to count Harry and Hermione in with his friends, despite how much they seemed to keep to themselves. They were so close to one another that they seemed almost self-sufficient. And yet they were always happy to see him, to talk to him, to study with him. Self-sufficient, but not aloof or unapproachable.

Neville had a good life now, even if he hadn't stopped worrying about his role in the struggle against Voldemort. What had him trapped in his mind today was thoughts of the DL. Harry had shown no inclination to start it back up. When Neville had asked him about it privately, Harry had said that since his godfather could now teach without fear of reprisal, they didn't need the DL. He also didn't think he'd have time. Neville found it a sketchy sort of answer. While it was true that Professor Black (who still got called Professor Rivers several times a day by students trying to get used to the idea that their teacher was an infamous character) had much better lessons these days without Umbridge to restrain him, the class was only catching up to what the DL had done. The members of the DL had mastered a few basic non-verbal spells and a lot of the most effective combat spells last year, and they were ready for something more difficult. It was merely an excuse on Harry's part, and his claim that he simply didn't have time was suspicious. He'd managed to lead the DL and plan their lessons last year while simultaneously leading Gryffindor's Quidditch team to win the cup.

Harry was up to something. Neville knew for a fact that he'd begun making regular visits to see Dumbledore, which was the only reason he didn't push Harry for an answer. If it was any of Neville's business, Harry or Dumbledore would have told him. So Neville had to accept that Harry was doing something with Dumbledore that was strictly "Chosen One" stuff. But that still left the DL needing instruction—especially with the tense climate in the halls these days. The prefects had to be particularly capable of breaking up fights. Neville and Ron and Ernie had talked several times about how they might get Harry or even Professor Black to start the DL up again. They hadn't come up with a solution.

Neville thought he had one. He just didn't know how to go about it. Would everyone think he was crazy? Laugh at him? But they needed this. He had to try.

* * *

Harry hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder as he mounted the stairs to meet Hermione in the library. Their schedules weren't quite as similar as they had been last year, and the work was harder and took more time, so the two of them had to find time together where they could. Hermione had dropped Care of Magical Creatures, but Harry had thought he ought to continue with it because he wasn't as comfortable as he'd like to be, and that meant they barely saw each other until dinner two days a week.

He heard angry voices on the landing above him. Alert, he shrugged off his bag and drew his wand before he paced up the rest of the staircase. He didn't want to appear too abruptly and alarm anyone, so he made sure his footfalls were loud enough to be heard. But whoever was up there wasn't listening for anyone approaching. It was a couple of bullies picking on a young girl, he thought.

"You aren't afraid of us, are you?" one of the boys laughed.

"We'd never hurt you, would we, Geoff?"

"Course not."

"But the Dark Lord, he goes after families like yours, that's all we're saying."

The girl was crying. "Leave me alone," she whispered. "Give me my bag." Harry recognized the voice of a girl in his own house, though he couldn't recall her name. She had a distinctive high pitch that he'd heard in the common room. He picked out the first spell he would use, if it came to wands, and prepared to defend her.

"Well, which is it? I could give you your bag, or I could leave you alone."

"You heard the girl," came a loud and commanding voice. "Give her back her stuff, _and_ leave her alone."

Harry relaxed. Now there was an ally he could count on.

The bully boys laughed. "Or what, Macmillan?" one of them asked.

"Don't suppose you'd care about house points, would you?" Ernie asked thoughtfully.

"Can't take points if you can't speak," one of them said threateningly.

"Don't go saying things you don't mean," yet another voice spoke up.

Harry halted there, hearing Ron's voice. He decided not to make an appearance, unless for some reason Ernie and Ron couldn't handle it. The less the "Chosen One" came rushing to the rescue, the better. He just waited. He wanted to see how much they'd really learned last year.

"Who says we don't mean it?"

"I really hope you don't mean it," came yet another male voice.

"After all, we wouldn't want to have to report this," said a girl. "Although you'd probably find that a better alternative than us taking care of it ourselves."

Harry almost laughed at the ensuing silence. He'd give anything to see the faces of the two bullies who now found themselves facing Ernie Macmillan, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Ginny Weasley together. He'd be willing to bet that Parvati and Hannah would be along any minute.

"Aw, come on," one of the two bullies said at last. "We were just—"

"_Langlock_," Neville said in a very mild voice. "We don't like being lied to."

"Look here," Ron spoke up. "We know you were picking on the girl, and we know you're not going to get in a fight with four prefects here in the middle of the hall. So let's call it ten points from Slytherin and we all go on our way, all right?"

The bully who had not been silenced said, "Points for what? We weren't doing anything!"

"You made a girl cry," Ginny said in that low voice that meant danger to Harry only because he'd been on the receiving end of it a time or two. "You really shouldn't do that."

"I can—"

"_Langlock_," Ron said in the same calm voice as Neville. "You were about to insult a girl, too, and we just can't have that."

"It's really too bad that you're having such a hard time with non-verbals in Black's class," Ernie said in a sympathetic-sounding voice. "Or I'm sure you'd have bested all four of us by now."

"Ten points, and you're lucky we don't make it more," Neville said. "Goodbye."

A brief silence.

"You know, I think we'll leave the spell on you for now, actually. Don't worry, it'll wear off on its own after a few minutes. Until then, I think your silence might do the school some good."

"Ta ta," Ginny added.

A moment later, footsteps retreated up another staircase, and the four remaining friends began to laugh, with a sort of letting go of nervous tension.

"Are you all right, Kimberly?" Ginny asked the younger girl.

"Yes, thank you," she sniffled.

"That could have been much worse than it was," Neville said.

"Ah, there's no way they could have—or would have—done anything to all four of us," Ginny said.

"But when it's seventh-years?" Neville muttered.

"Good point, but until we have a solution to our problem, we just have to stay sharp," Ernie said.

"Gin, let's you and I take Kimberly here back to the common room in case those blokes are hanging around," Ron suggested. "Ernie, you all right?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Neville?"

"I'm headed downstairs, anyway, I'll be fine."

"Okay."

They broke up, and when Neville descended, there was Harry standing in the middle of the stairs with his bag discarded behind him and amusement in his eyes. Neville paused for a second, surprised, then made a wry face and came down to meet Harry while Harry stooped to pick up his things and resheath his wand.

"Good work," Harry said, trying not to laugh. "I wouldn't much want to get into a fight with any of you, but the four of you together are pretty unstoppable."

Neville was looking at him with a curious expression, and Harry stopped being amused.

"What is it?"

"Just thinking about what might have happened if it was older students. They're Slytherin, and some of them have learned some pretty Dark spells that we're going to have a tough time with."

"This is about the DL again, isn't it?" Harry asked, realising where Neville's conversation was headed.

Neville's face made it obvious.

"Listen, Neville, it's not that I don't see the need for it. But I really don't have time. Dumbledore and I . . . we're working on something. Something pretty important. Honestly, if there was anyone I'd feel comfortable telling about it, it would be you, but not here and not now."

"I understand," Neville said with a serenity that surprised Harry. Only last year, he'd have been pretty upset about it.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. In truth, he might be able to find the time for once-weekly meetings. But he couldn't put the effort into it that the DL needed at this point, and someone else would be a better choice. There was only one person Harry could think of for the role, but he was waiting for him to realise it for himself.

"Really, Harry, don't apologise. I get that you have other responsibilities now. I was just wondering what you would think . . . I've been thinking about it a lot, thinking about who else might do it. And I wanted to see if it was okay with you, if, um, if I restarted the DL myself."

Neville was half-mumbling by the end, but Harry caught it. He laughed, and clapped Neville on the back.

"I've been hoping you'd figure it out," he grinned.

"What?"

"That you were capable of it. I can't think of anyone better, honestly. I was waiting for you to say something."

Neville was hilariously disconcerted by it. "So you wouldn't mind? I mean, it was your idea to begin with . . ."

Harry pulled from his pocket the item that he'd been keeping there for two weeks, waiting for Neville to make the offer. "Here," he said, flipping it to him.

Neville caught it. "A Galleon?"

"Hermione's charmed Galleon that changes all the other DL coins," Harry said.

"You keep it on you, even with the DL not meeting?"

"Just waiting to give it to you."

Neville clenched his hand around it possessively. "I know I can keep it going maybe until the end of the term, but after that, I'm going to need some help."

"Ask Sirius, and Dumbledore. They'll both have loads of ideas."

He'd have to suggest to Sirius that he sit down with Moody at one of the Order meetings to get some good input on what the DL might focus on. Of course, Sirius would probably figure that out all by himself.

"Oh, here," Harry said, handing over another Galleon. "I took Draco's back, so you don't have to worry about him."

Neville just looked at the coin in Harry's outstretched hand, and shook his head. "Keep it."

"Me? Why?"

"Just in case you find some time to come. Thought you might still want the practice even if you don't want to be in charge."

Harry put it back in his pocket gratefully. Neville knew better than any of the other students what it was like to be where he was right now. He would want the practice. Whether it helped or not, there was always that feeling that one more spell you could learn that meant the difference between surviving and not surviving. If he could hone himself just that little bit more . . .

"I'll come when I can," Harry promised. "See you later, Neville."

"All right, Harry."

"Neville? Thanks."

And without waiting for a response, he hurried up to the library for the study session he was now rather late for.

* * *

Harry finished describing what he'd seen (or rather, heard) on the stair landing to Hermione. She had insisted it wait until they were walking to the Gryffindor common room, so they could use their time in the library for actually studying.

"That's wonderful, for Neville. For everyone, I suppose."

"You're still going to go, aren't you, Hermione?" Harry asked her. This was the first it had occured to him to wonder whether or not she would be involved in the DL if he wasn't.

She looked down. "I don't know. I'm already ahead by quite a bit—"

"I think you should," Harry said, discarding the idea of sarcastically remarking on her turning down the opportunity to study more.

"You do?"

"There's no way you can know too much about Defense, especially not now. I'm sure Neville will be asking you to teach him how to make more of the coins soon, he's going to have a lot more takers now that Voldemort is out in the open. I won't always be able to make it to the meetings, but you should go." He knew she still felt overwhelmed by the other students sometimes, but she needed to break away from him a little bit and stop expecting him to act as her go-between to the rest of the school.

Hermione didn't want to discuss it any more, that was obvious. She changed the subject. "I think the way the prefects handled that situation was brilliant. It's nice to see that Ron and Ginny can work together. How many fights did you break up between them last year?"

"A lot." He snorted. "The problem is that Ron needs to get laid and Ginny needs to stop doing it so often. There would be a marked improvement in their personalities."

Hermione slapped at his shoulder. "How can you say that about her? She doesn't just sleep around like that."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "If you say so."

"Besides, give Ron a little time, you know? Sixteen is pretty young, isn't it? I mean, not counting you." Then Hermione turned a suspicious face on him. "Just how many people have you, um, you know?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Six. I think."

Hermione was startled. "You told me about that veela person when you were thirteen. And you said you had a girlfriend in Australia. _Six_?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, definitely six. Stephanie the Bulgarian veela, then another prostitute in Austria—which was a mistake, by the way—then we moved to Brisbane. I seem to remember two of the obligatory drunk college girls at the college parties, then Anna."

"That's only five," Hermione said suspiciously. "Which means the sixth one is in England."

Harry was turning very, very red. "I was going to tell you soon, so don't be mad that you don't know. I wasn't trying to keep it from you."

Hermione stopped, right in front of the portrait hole into Gryffindor. "It's a _student_?"

Harry bit his lip, then straightened his shoulders. "This was last year, before you and I started dating."

Hermione was livid. "Was it Ginny? I swear to you, Harry, if it was Ginny—"

"No, it wasn't Ginny. With her, there were too many strings attached. I didn't want to date Ginny, and she at least wants the guy to wine and dine her a little bit—"

_That was the wrong thing to say, Harry. That was very much the wrong thing to say._ There were bright red flashing warning signs in his head that told him he'd veered off into dangerous territory.

"So you just went with some girl who wasn't worth the effort? Some cheap little—"

"_No_. No, I did not go for someone who was easy. I just wanted something simple, something with a girl who wasn't looking for a relationship. And there was a girl who was willing for it to be just a one-time thing. But she was a really interesting girl, too. I didn't want just any random girl, it wasn't like that, I actually liked her."

_Not helping, Harry. This is not helping_. Well, what was he supposed to say about this? He'd planned on just one day coming out with it. Just saying, _Hermione, I slept with someone last year, and I wanted you to know about it because you're my girlfriend and I want to be honest with you_. That was all. He liked honesty. He was certainly not used to women who wanted an explanation for why he'd slept with someone or needed to know all the details about his past relationships. Were all normal girls like that?

Hermione was standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, looking more disgusted than he'd ever seen her look before. "Just tell me who it was."

"Look, Hermione, I want to be a gentleman about it. It's not that I wouldn't tell you, it's just that she doesn't need a bunch of people pointing at her in the hallway or calling her the Chosen Floozy or something. We both approached this whole thing with a lot of respect for each other—in fact, she's pretty much the only girl at this school who felt the way I did about it. I know I can trust you with it, but just think for a second . . . do you really want to know?"

"Yes, _Harry_, I really want to know."

"It was Luna."

"Luna _Lovegood_?" Hermione shrieked, making Harry wince. Oh, god, there were people coming down the hallway, and they had to have heard that. Why, oh, why couldn't they be doing this somewhere else? "She's not even . . . she's weird-looking!"

"I told you, she's interesting and I like her. I should think it would be a point in my favour that I didn't just throw myself at some girl with huge tits, if I wanted that I'd have gone for Lavender Brown—"

"Next on your list, is she?" Hermione huffed.

"No, urgh," Harry said, shuddering, "I can't even carry on a conversation with her, she's got no brains in her head."

Hermione looked stricken, at that. "So, this, you and me, is all about the fact that I have brains in my head? You think I'm _interesting_ and you want to have sex with me, and after you dump me, I suppose you'll go for Professor McGonagall?"

"You're being ridiculous," Harry said hotly. "Not to mention hurtful. I haven't done anything to make you think that."

"Except have six sexual partners by the age of sixteen."

"Oh, so what? How does that suddenly mean that we were never friends and all this time I've spent with you is just so I can get into your knickers? When have I ever acted that way?"

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want, as you so eloquently put it, to get into my knickers?"

"Well, yeah, eventually. But I can _wait_. I've told you that. I don't mind that you're not ready for it. I have been totally faithful to you, for your information, because I knew it would be important to you. As soon as we started dating, I stopped thinking about other girls. I am telling you about Luna because you wanted to know, remember? Most of this happened before I even _met_ you."

Hermione's face was streaked with tears, though she didn't really look like she was crying. She just looked lost. "And you didn't think even once that you might, one day, meet a girl who wasn't quite as loose about sex as you? That the girl might feel just the tiniest bit inadequate?"

"Inadequate? Is that what all this is about?" Frustrated, Harry raked both hands through his hair. When he raised his arms, Hermione flinched. Harry forced himself to calm down a little bit. She had a reasonable fear of angry young men with a professed sexual attraction to her. He had to stay cool about this. "Hermione, how many times do I have to say it? You're my best friend as well as someone I feel romantic toward. You have ten times more of my heart than any of those girls did. And if I'd known back then how much it was going to upset the person I was serious about, I probably wouldn't have been quite as free as I was. I'm sorry this came up at such a bad moment. You should have been better prepared to hear it."

"It doesn't matter whether I was prepared," Hermione said, swiping at her damp cheeks. "Even if I knew what I was about to hear, it wouldn't change the fact that I'm not going to be able to make you happy. You can tell me all you want that you're willing to wait until I'm ready, but what if that's still years away? You're just not that kind of guy."

"I think you're selling me just a tad short, aren't you?" he asked angrily.

"And because you're not, you're never going to make me happy, either," she shot back. "We both have a lot of expectations that we can't meet for each other, and I think we should stop this now, before it gets worse. I can't remember the last time I was with you when I wasn't either crying or trying to help you save the world. I don't want that anymore."

"Hermione, stop. If you want me to back off, you can say that, but don't say you don't even want to talk to me anymore."

Hugging her arms around herself, she said, "I don't want to talk to you anymore."

Then she fled into the portrait hole and disappeared, leaving Harry standing out in the corridor wondering what point in that conversation he should have just bailed out on it and faked a complete memory loss or something. What exactly in hell had just happened?

* * *

"Witches," Sirius grunted, sounding amused.

Harry lifted his head from his hands. "What?"

'"Can't live with them, can't hex them," he expounded.

"So you do have some idea what just happened to me?"

"Some idea, yeah," Sirius said.

"Well?"

"It's a classic technique that women employ, Harry. She's obviously got something on her mind that she doesn't know how to share with you, and she's worked herself into thinking it's vital to your relationship and you were five minutes from dumping her. She just wanted to beat you to the punch. It might just be that your rather sordid past scared her, and she was actually afraid that you expect more from her than you do, but it seems to me that she's been doubting herself already for some reason." Sirius gave him a narrow-eyed look. "_Have_ you been pressuring her?"

"No."

"It wouldn't surprise me if you had, you know, and now that I see what it's led to, I'm really sorry that I was so lax when you were younger—"

"Sirius. No. I've done the meaningless sex thing, and Hermione is someone that I want to have a relationship with. How many times do I have to say it, for Merlin's sake? I. Can. Wait. For. Her."

Sirius shrugged. "Just had to ask."

"Sirius, come _on_. What should I do?"

"Leave her alone."

"No, really. I mean, is she wanting me to chase her, to prove she's important to me, or something?"

"That very well may be. But I want you to listen to me, kiddo. I'm being dead serious, here."

"Okay."

"First of all, I think you ought to let that girl stand on her own for a while. She doesn't have self-esteem like you've got, and just by being yourself, you make her feel inadequate. It doesn't have as much to do with other women as she'd like you to believe. What she needs is some time on her own, to find out what she's capable of."

Harry fidgeted, knowing that he'd been thinking something similar right before their fight. "She's going to find out she's capable of a lot. She might not come back."

Sirius nodded. "I know. That's the other thing I want you to hear. If she doesn't . . . Harry, it might be for the best. Take a good, hard look at the situation you're in. Anyone around you, associated with you, is at the beginning of a dark time in their life. Me, Remus, people like us, we're going to be afraid for our lives for a little while. Voldemort's going to be coming after all of us because we're close to you. You think really hard about whether or not you want Hermione to be involved in that."

"She already made that choice," Harry argued. "She said she knew it was dangerous and she wanted to be part of it."

"I know that. But is that going to help you sleep at night, when she's hurt or killed, that she knew it would be dangerous?"

Harry stared past his godfather into nothing. "No. No, if anything happened to Hermione—or to you, or anyone else I love—I'd feel . . . well, Remus told you how I was when you got hurt at the Ministry fight."

"So you let her go, Harry," Sirius said, a look of pain and regret on his face. "You let her walk away, and you don't try to win her back. You let her walk right into safety that you can't give her, however nominal it may be."

Harry gaped at Sirius. "You're talking about Catalina, aren't you? Sirius, she wanted to stay together?"

"She wanted to come with me," he said with a tiny, lost smile. "I walked away from her. That's why we can't try to find them, Harry, not just because of the danger. It's because she was willing to risk it to stay with me and I told her no. I had to keep her safe, and to do that, I had to break her heart. She won't _want_ me to find her."

Harry thought back to Catalina, to how happy she'd been with Sirius. Thinking about what it must have been like when Sirius refused to let her be with him, when he left her . . .

"You want me to do that to Hermione?"

"Harry, it won't be quite like that. You guys are much younger, and she's the one who is trying to distance herself from you right now. All I'm suggesting is that you ought to make sure she maintains that distance."

Harry thought about what it would feel like if he had to tell Mr. and Mrs. Granger that their one and only child was dead because he'd been selfish and kept her at his side when it was the most dangerous time to be there. And he thought he could force himself to cause Hermione some pain of heart if it meant that she would live through this war.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered as he stood up.

"Sorry for what?" Sirius asked, rising from the other side of his desk.

"Making you talk about this stuff again."

Sirius smiled. "I love you. If there is anything I have learned in my life that helps you, then it doesn't matter to me if it's hard to talk about. I'm just glad that you made it to age sixteen and you still want to come talk to me."

"After all the places you've been and things you've seen? I'd have to be stupid not to want your advice," Harry said in surprise.

"That's another one of those things you don't seem to understand about people. Kids your age typically decide that it's the adults who are stupid and they're on their own trying to figure out the world with one another for advice."

Harry made a face. "The day I ask the guys in my dormitory for relationship advice is the day you'll see me disemboweled by an angry witch."

"Good to see you're not a total loss," Sirius teased. "Now then: I'm going home for the evening. You may feel free to mope about your break-up, but only after you complete your homework."

Harry shrugged. "It'll be a good distraction, anyway—and an excuse to stay away from everyone who's going to want to know what we were fighting about. Merlin, there'll be an article in the paper about it tomorrow, won't there?"

"Likely. Make sure they take the picture from your good side, would you?"

Harry playfully tossed an inkwell at Sirius as he ducked into the fireplace, but he arrested it with his wand and sent it back to the desk as Sirius waved goodbye.

* * *

The man's face had lost so much colour that it was nearly gray, and the quivering throughout his body was making even his lank hair shiver around his face. His eyes, impossibly wide, stared up at the figure before him, so lost in panic that he didn't even blink at the sweat dripping into them.

"Why are you doing this?" he said in a small, hoarse voice.

"You have a daughter, do you not, a thirteen-year-old whelp?"

"What does this have to do with Kimberly?"

"You are a Muggle," the man looming over him hissed. A huge snake was coiling around his feet. "And you sent your Kimberly to school with pureblooded wizards and witches as though she were their equal. You had the _audacity_ to assume she belonged there."

"I don't understand, sir, I'm sorry. It was that Professor at the school, he came and said Kimberly was special, they _invited_ her to come—"

"They, too, shall be dealt with. Your precious daughter, too. But first, you." And the man with gleaming red eyes smiled, as if in anticipation.

If Kimberly's father had known what Voldemort would do, he might have screamed and begged for his life. But Kimberly's father didn't know. He died without a hint of a struggle.

Many miles away, Harry Potter woke up with a vague sense of disturbance. The only explanation he had for it was a feeling that the bullies, that afternoon, had taken something very important from the girl they were tormenting. He rolled over and went back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**__ Hello, everyone! I am posting just a bit early, because I am going to be leaving on vacation. I am sure no one will complain about the chapter being a day early, but you might not be as happy to hear that the following chapter will be a day or two late! I will be out of town visiting friends, and I plan on having the time of my life, so no trying to make me feel guilty about not updating on time! My next update will probably be on Thursday or so next week._

_About this chapter: I'm not sure I made it clear enough in the chapter, but I'm too tired to edit it anymore, so I'll just tell you. It takes place about three weeks after the previous chapter (with the bullies and the breakup of Hermione & Harry), and this entire chapter takes place over one weekend._

* * *

Chapter Five

Harry normally enjoyed a long, hot shower after a brisk Saturday morning of running several kilometres and going through a grueling Quidditch practice. Today, he leapt in, got as clean as possible as fast as possible, and hurried out again, returning to his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower to finish his assigned reading. But as he hurried, he felt some satisfaction. Quidditch was going well. He had turned down the captaincy of the team so that Ron Weasley could have it, and Ron was turning out to be an excellent captain. His mind for strategy, his love of Quidditch, and the leadership role he'd been playing at the school as a prefect had combined to make him a powerhouse of energy and tactics that didn't want to hear if one of his teammates was tired or bored. That included his sister, who'd come back on this year as a Chaser and was doing much better in that position than she had as Seeker. Those hurt feelings, it seemed, were being healed.

Harry finished his reading while laying on his bed listening to Seamus snore. The boy did like to sleep in on the weekends, it was nearly noon. He finally woke when Harry got back up and dressed warmly for the chill of the late October day.

"Where you goin', Great One?" Seamus mumbled. He found it amusing to call Harry that, probably since Harry didn't.

"Just out," Harry said simply, wrapping a scarf around himself. He could tell Seamus, but why spoil the fun of everybody who'd want to gossip about it later? Besides, he didn't want to look like he was bragging. He was going to meet with Dumbledore, and Dumbledore never bragged.

As he worked his way downstairs, he had to endure yet more of the snide and false requests for his autograph (and a couple of actual requests for good measure), and it made him grumpy. Just because the media had got a picture of him shaking hands with the Minister outside of Fudge's office . . . The truth was too boring, so the paper had decided to speculate about why he was there. The truth was that Fudge simply wouldn't take Harry's refusal to dedicate a new wing for the hospital in writing, so Harry was forced to decline in person. Not only that, but he wasn't yet of age, so Sirius (not pictured) was in the office as well doing his job as Harry's guardian. When Harry got as old as Dumbledore and got to be Chief Mugwump—whoops, Dumbledore'd had that title taken away last year, hadn't he?—well, if Harry ever did get there, he was going to outlaw speculation. He might just outlaw newspapers and magazines entirely.

At least it wasn't questions about his breakup with Hermione anymore . . . He'd spent the first days after that had made it into the media holding himself back from pinning people to the ground and choking the life out of them.

He met Dumbledore at their agreed-upon spot, a side door out of the castle that avoided the crowd of people around the main entrance and the door everyone used to get to the Quidditch pitch. He was wearing his usual robes, but he'd added a thick, dark blue cloak against the weather. He smiled when he saw Harry.

"Sorry if I'm late," Harry said quickly. "Everyone's trying their hand at comedy this morning."

"Then I shall refrain from making an attempt," Dumbledore said. "I would hate to think that my abilities as a comedian have caused us to miss our appointment." He said it as if Harry's problem were nothing much.

And, Harry supposed, it would be nothing to a guy who'd gotten that much media attention during his lifetime.

"I think I might have single-handedly saved Fudge's job by being pictured with him so often," Harry grumped. "He was about to get the sack and then I started showing up in all his pictures and they decided he could stay for a while."

"You may be right," Dumbledore said in a much more grave voice, surprising Harry. He didn't want to have saved Fudge's job. Fudge was an idiot. He really had to find a better way to avoid those meetings.

"Well, anyway," Harry said, gesturing toward the door, "shall we?"

"We shall," Dumbledore said grandly, leading the way. "I trust that your time spent signing autographs did not bar you from completing your reading?"

"No, I did it. Would you like a comparative essay?"

"Essays are fine things for a large classroom," Dumbledore declared. "But you, Harry, I would much rather carry on a discussion with."

So they talked as they walked, about the speeches Harry had read, speeches of Adolf Hitler and Gellert Grindelwald. They talked about the similarities and differences he had found between them, and the philosophical implications of such similarities between a Muggle and a wizard. Harry had only figured out what Dumbledore was doing that very morning, and he couldn't help but be impressed. Not only was Harry being forced to see just how similar Muggles and wizards could be, he was getting a lesson in the extremes of power and control. And it was working. Harry was disgusted by the things he'd read, but he was taking ownership of the feelings he'd always had about the value of Muggles and Muggleborns.

Then they came to the lake, their destination, and walked to a certain tree that overhung a deep pool. Dumbledore crouched down and touched the tip of his wand to the water, sending out some brief spark. It was only a moment before a head rose above the water, and the merman's arm came out to grasp a branch of the tree to hold himself there. Harry could see his thick, powerful tail gently waving under the water.

Dumbledore greeted the merman with joy and spoke to him briefly. The merman looked at Harry and grinned, revealing his mossy teeth. Harry was overjoyed. He was a barbarian, to look at him, with his slimy skin and the fishbones tied into the tangled hair. But the words flowing off his tongue were liquid and graceful and as far as Harry could tell he was discussing with Dumbledore the current political position of the centaurs in the nearby forest.

Finally, Dumbledore beckoned to Harry. "Harry, this is Reed. Reed, may I present Harry Potter. Reed has been chosen among his people as the best of them to guide you in your learning. He is a philosopher, of sorts, and a keeper of their songs and tales."

Harry was impressed, and immediately made his first attempt to speak Mermish to an actual merman. He said he was happy to meet him. Actually what he was saying was much closer to, "encountering you in this place gives me a feeling like dappled sunlight falling through a peaceful forest of kelp." Or that was what Harry had _meant_ to say. He was informed that he had actually said, "encountering you in this place gives me a meal like dappled sunlight falling through an infected forest of eels." Reed and Dumbledore had a good chuckle over that, but Harry didn't get embarrassed. He was learning a language, and this was the only way he knew to do it.

He was content to listen to Reed and Dumbledore converse for a few moments, just enjoying the way the words rolled off their tongues. He was mentally making any number of corrections to his pronunciation. After only a few more minutes of conversation, Dumbledore held out his hand. Reed disappeared beneath the surface, but Dumbledore kept his hand there until Reed's tail rose up and gently slapped against it. Apparently, that was a handshake. Reed resurfaced, and they made their goodbyes.

A farewell to a merman was "It is my wish that I see you again before the stars fall from the sky and boil us." Slightly morbid, but hey, maybe that was what living under a cold lake did to you. Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to let Reed slap his tail against Harry's hand, but after they had both said goodbye, Reed went under the water and didn't reappear, so Harry assumed not.

"Well, Harry, now you have met a merman. What do you think?"

"He's brilliant," Harry said. "I was trying to listen, but you were speaking too fast. Did he say I was supposed to come back when the fish rise?"

"I'm glad you were able to follow at all, that was well done. What we have agreed on is that you will come back on Tuesdays at the time when the fish come to the surface of the lake, which in human terms is about five-thirty p.m. Reed will meet with you at that same place, and you will practice what you have been learning during the week, from me and from your own studies."

Harry nodded. "Okay. I'm going to learn it as fast as I can. Reed doesn't look like a guy who's easily impressed."

"No, the merpeople are generally not. However, you have already impressed them a great deal simply by expressing interest in their language and culture. Few wizards, especially young wizards, do."

Which was exactly why Mermish was the language Harry had wanted Dumbledore to coach him on. Practically anyone could teach Harry how to converse with Goblins, and learning the language of giants and trolls took about a week altogether. But Mermish was tricky and complicated, and Dumbledore was the only wizard Harry knew who spoke it.

"We have made a further agreement. After a month's time, if Reed feels you have learned a sufficient portion of the language, he will invite you to take gillyweed and follow him into the lake to meet some of his clan. You will converse with them and be invited into at least one dwelling to see an example of their architecture and food. If all goes well, you will be invited to return."

Harry was ecstatic. "That's perfect! I can't wait to see it for myself, but it's even better that I'll be surrounded by people speaking Mermish. I can't really learn it until I can hear the native speakers talking to each other, you know. I have to get totally lost and try to work my way through it."

Dumbledore seemed surprised. "That is the method known as learning by immersion, I believe. Since you are so meticulous in your life, I assumed that you would not be an adherent to that method."

Harry shrugged. "It's how I learned Portugese and German so quickly." In his experience, learning a language was about diving in, embarrassing yourself, and getting over it so you could communicate. If he hadn't done that, he never would have been able to do the grocery shopping or watch the telly. It helped that he'd had fluent speakers of both those languages in his own home, but he didn't suppose he could ask Reed to come up to the castle for a while.

As they hurried back in through the same door they'd used to exit, Harry turned to Dumbledore with a grin.

"I hope that I see you again before the stars fall from the sky and boil the lake."

"As do I. One must always hope for the best," Dumbledore replied without returning the smile.

Shaking his head at the old man's sense of humour, Harry turned to go, but Dumbledore stopped Harry.

"Before we part company, I would like to bring up a topic you may not appreciate. I hope that you will bear with me for a moment and take this in the spirit in which it is intended."

Harry stilled, the smile remaining on his face, though it looked a little odd at this point.

"I wish to ask you about Miss Granger."

Harry's face twisted into a frown. "What about her?"

"I simply want to ask you if you are certain you have made the right decision."

"Sirius—"

"Sirius made his decision, and you are entitled to make a separate one. I cannot speak as to whether it was right for Sirius and his lady friend—"

"Fiancée," Harry muttered.

"His fiancée," Dumbledore corrected himself graciously, "because I did not know her or her feelings about their situation. I make no judgements on him. Nor, indeed, do I intend to make any judgements on you. However, I have been keeping an eye on Miss Granger, and I have seen her lose some of the spark she has shown recently. Nor have I seen you truly happy, Harry. You told me of the argument you had, but I feel quite certain that she misses you and is hoping that you will seek her out."

Harry started to speak, but Dumbledore held up his hand, his one good hand.

"I am not making any suggestions, my boy. I do not wish to give advice on this matter. I am only asking you: are you sure that avoiding her is the best course of action? You do not have to answer to me, only to yourself. I want to be sure that you do not think your life must be lived alone, without friends. I just want you to think about it."

Harry sighed. "I will."

There they went their separate ways, and Harry was angry. His day had started out so well! His run had been brisk, his Quidditch practice had left him with all of Ron's enthusiasm for "smashing" the other teams, and then he'd gotten to meet Reed. He'd been totally looking forward to studying hard enough to get under the lake to meet Reed's people within a few weeks. Now his good mood had been ruined because Dumbledore thought he needed to bring up Hermione. And he'd promised to think about her, like all his spare thoughts weren't already going to her after he got done thinking about classes, lessons with Dumbledore, the DL meetings he made it to, meetings with goddamned Fudge, and everything else.

He trudged up the stairs with all the doubts he'd tried to put aside coming back to the forefront of his mind. Was he doing the right thing? Was it wrong of him to dismiss her acceptance of the danger? They'd been friends first, and that was what he missed. He didn't need a girlfriend to hold hands with and kiss in the hallways and make everyone else feel jealous. Ron and Parvati had that covered. Not having sex didn't kill anyone, though it came close. What he needed was the person who'd listened to every complaint he had about his role in this war, who respected his opinion about prophecy, whose matter-of-fact attitude about the danger versus what needed to be done calmed all his worries, whose sharp mind found the answers he missed . . . That was Hermione, and no one else. He wanted her back, but couldn't justify to himself the danger it would put her in. If she chose it, fine, but he wouldn't put her there for his own selfish reasons. He'd go it alone.

It wasn't until he got to the common room that his day was really shot, though. As soon as he entered, he knew something was wrong. There was a comfort-huddle around the sofa nearest the fire, the kind that girls fell into when someone got broken up with. But this one was different. The faces he saw were pale and streaked with tears. And the girl in the middle of the huddle was Kimberly, the third-year girl who'd been rescued from bullies by the prefects a few weeks ago.

Harry saw Neville, and hurried over to him. He drew him back with a hand on his sleeve, away from the muttering crowd.

"What's happened?"

Neville shook his head, looking sick. "It's her father."

Harry's stomach lurched.

"What about him?"

"He lived alone, and he'd been laid off from his job. No one knew."

Feeling his mouth turn to cotton, Harry was afraid to ask, but Neville answered the unspoken question.

"A neighbour called the police and they found his body this morning, but they think he's been dead for almost three weeks. The Muggles are saying he had a heart attack or a stroke, but there's a Squib on the police force, and he said it was _Avada Kedavra_. They came after him because he's a Muggle."

Harry's stomach churned with illness, remembering the night, that strange night, when he'd woken from his sleep feeling as though the bullies had hurt Kimberly more than he'd thought. He knew people were dying, but this was the first time it had been shoved in his face like this, the first time he'd been acquainted with the victim.

Then Kimberly looked up, and met his eyes. Her face was wet with tears and her eyes were painfully red. There was so much sorrow and anger in her eyes, and all Harry could see was accusation. He should have done something. He should have stopped Voldemort by now, put an end to this before her father had become prey to this murderer. That was his job, and he wasn't doing it.

He broke eye contact with a ragged breath, and stumbled up the stairs, thanking Merlin that Seamus had finally decided to roll out of bed so that his room was empty. He lay down and breathed shallowly, trying not to throw up. He told himself that this wasn't his fault. He wasn't Voldemort. Voldemort didn't hate Muggles and Muggleborns just because Harry was around. He hadn't hurt Kimberly or her father. And it wasn't his job to stop Voldemort, either. He was sixteen years old, and it wasn't up to him to single-handedly destroy the Dark Lord.

But all he could think about was Kimberly's eyes. She'd looked lost. She'd never thought, none of them ever thought, that they would be next. And Harry could have done something. If he hadn't learned from Snape so well, blocked out so much of that connection just for his own peace of mind . . . he would have known, maybe would have been able to save Kimberly's father the way he'd saved Arthur Weasley. At the very least, he would have been able to make sure the man wouldn't have been laying dead in his home for weeks, undiscovered.

He'd never questioned that using Occlumency was the right thing to do. But now he lay there and wondered if he was doing anything right at all.

* * *

"No, Terry, _hit_ him with it! He can take it! And if he can't, that's what Madam Pomfrey is for!"

Ernie looked slightly alarmed at that, but when Terry raised his wand again, Ernie just bounced on the balls of his feet and grinned. Neville turned his attention back to the girls he was trying to help. They were hopeless. It wasn't that they couldn't learn the spells or even use them properly. It was just that they couldn't bring themselves to use the spells on one another. If they couldn't do that, they'd get no practice.

He saw Kimberly's pale face in the back of the group. He'd been cautious with her, since she was a third year, but she had so much pent-up emotion after finding out about her father yesterday that she'd flattened Katie Bell, so he'd let her join the more experienced students. The sight of her provoked him to be a little extra-harsh.

"Listen to me," he said to the girls. "This is not a club that meets for fun. This is a group that meets to train for battle. I know it's hard to hex your friends, but think about the alternative: you, facing an enemy, having never actually used any of the spells in your repertoire. You ought to know by now that Death Eaters play for keeps, so you need to have the discipline to do the same. Right?"

They nodded, wide-eyed.

"Ginny," Neville called to her, waving her over. She mostly paired up with Luna since Cho was the only girl he could safely pair Hermione with. Those four were the only girls who didn't hold back in practice. Luna seemed to think her opponents were interesting experiments as much as people, and Ginny and Cho were just intense with everything. Hermione was too volatile for a demonstration right now, with her emotional state. "Show them how it's done, would you?"

Ginny didn't even take a moment to prepare, just started slinging spells at him like she was in the fight of her life. Neville blocked, dodged, deflected, did everything he could to keep from getting hit. Her spells came so quickly that he had no time to counterattack, merely to keep from going down. And her spells were the dangerous kind, the ones that only the older students were learning, the ones who'd been in the DL last year. Neville leapt over a curse she aimed at his feet, then was caught completely off his guard when she threw out a Jelly-Legs Jinx. He hit the ground.

Smirking, she minced forward to finish him off.

"_Stupefy_!" Neville shouted.

She dropped like a sack of bricks.

Several girls squealed, although not Luna. Luna didn't even seem capable of squealing.

"Oh, relax, she'll come 'round in a minute," Neville snapped, fixing his legs and getting back up. "_Expelliarmus_," he muttered, taking Ginny's wand in case she was faking it and planning to retaliate. "Okay. Who can tell me what they just learned?"

"She got you with a stupid third-year spell," Parvati volunteered.

Kimberly bristled at that, but Neville was nodding.

"I was looking out for dangerous spells, things that were going to hurt me, and I got caught because I underestimated her creativity. Never think that any spell you know won't be of any use. They all have their applications. Anyone else?"

"She underestimated you, too," said another girl.

"Yes, she did. She got cocky. She was keeping me on the defensive, and it made her too confident. Never, never assume that your opponent isn't going to get you at any moment until you have them unconscious with their wand in your hand. And even then, be on the lookout for a spare wand. They're not totally safe until they're in Azkaban."

"Right, because Azkaban is so safe," someone muttered.

_Good point_, Neville thought. All he said aloud was, "Let's see what you can do, then. Partner up."

They did, and Neville walked over to see how things had ended up between Terry and Ernie. He left Ginny on the floor as an object lesson for the other girls, although Cho was heading over to get her up while Hermione glared daggers at Luna. (Neville had tried to ask about the sudden enmity between those two, but he'd been rebuffed. Firmly.) He was interested to see which boy had won the duel. People tended to underestimate Terry because he looked so slender and bookish, but he was no weakling. However, since Ernie knew that . . .

He found both of them on the floor, glaring at one another and moaning. Ron was standing by them, looking highly amused. Neville just chuckled and shook his head.

"Nice to know they're on our side, isn't it?" Ron said.

"Just what I was thinking."

Neville continued around the room, directing, suggesting, sometimes just watching. The room was different this year. Neville, perhaps because he hadn't spent nearly as much time as Harry in martial arts studios, had a different vision of their perfect practice room. His had cushions instead of floor mats, mirrors on one wall where a person could improve their fighting stance, but most of all, the room was much larger. The DL had about twenty new members this year. He'd kept the list of victims that had appeared in the original room, which had grown so long that it nearly stretched the length of the room. He'd had one of their newbies help him unroll it during their first meeting this year, to show them all how long it had gotten and impress on everyone, especially the new members, just what was at stake.

He hadn't had trouble leading the group. He was one of only two people in the DL who'd been at the Ministry last year, and they trusted what he had to say about Death Eaters. He hadn't been all that respected during his first years here, but his fanaticism in the DL had people's attention.

"Okay, everyone, wrap it up!" He waited a moment for the last spells to be cast, and for people to help their opponents back to rights. "Listen up! I have an announcement!" He had to wait another moment for people to stop talking. "Okay. I talked to Professor Black earlier, and he told me he's talked Professor Moody into doing a guest lecture next week." There was some cheering for that. Another of their old professors, Professor Lupin, came in from time to time to help with demonstrations, but they hadn't seen Moody since his re-retirement at the end of Neville's fourth year. "Not only that, but Moody's heard all about the DL, and he's interested in coming to a meeting to watch us work." Even more cheering at that. "So, I want everyone putting in some extra practice this week. He's a hard man to impress, but I know we can. Let's show him what we've got!"

A final round of cheering, and the meeting began to break up. Neville stayed in fairly close contact with Professor Black about the DL, getting suggestions whenever he could, and sometimes spending extra time with the professor to perfect something himself before he tried to show it to his group. But even he was proud that they'd worked hard enough to get Moody to come in.

"Think Potter will show up for that one?" Ernie asked him.

"Hope so," Neville shrugged.

"That would be wicked!" Colin Creevey, who'd been practicing near Ernie and Terry, enthused. "I would love to get a photo of him and Moody!"

"Down, boy," Ernie muttered, making Neville snicker.

"I guess he _would _only be here if he's got the opportunity to hang out with somebody famous," another boy, a Ravenclaw, said.

"Showoff," his dueling partner agreed.

"He already knows Moody," Ron objected loudly. "Why would he come here just to see Moody when his own godfather obviously sees the man all the time?"

"Still a showoff."

"No, he isn't," Hermione said in a dangerous voice, which gave everyone a moment's pause.

"I don't think you can call it showing off when he does spells better than we do. How is he supposed to get sufficient practice if he has to hold back his abilities?" Luna asked innocently. "He doesn't care when one of us does something better than he does."  
Hermione didn't look too happy about her ally, but since no one was looking entirely convinced yet, she kept going.

"I would think that we'd all be pretty happy he was better at Defense than the rest of us," she said starchly. "Since you're all counting on him to save you from the Darkest wizard of our time."

Everyone seemed embarrassed by that.

"Are you here to learn Defense, or aren't you?" Neville spoke up. "I told you all at the beginning of the year that you came into this room for one reason, and if you weren't committed to it, you could get out. Everyone who came here just to watch Harry and try to judge him can go right now. I'll want your coin on your way out." There was a stony silence. "Everyone who wants to do their part in this war can feel free to keep their coin and be at the meeting next week to _show off_ what you've learned to Professor Moody. Meeting dismissed."

He shook his head as he exited the room with Ron. "Maybe it's just because we were forced to spend six months with Draco Malfoy, but I don't understand the way they think they're going to like everyone else in the DL. It doesn't matter if they _like_ each other, they're here to _fight_ each other."

Ron gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. "I know, mate. A lot of them aren't taking it seriously yet." Looking subdued, he added, "Having Kimberly around ought to open their eyes a bit."

Neville sighed. "She's the first one from Gryffindor to lose someone like that, but I know she's not going to be the last. We've got prefects rounds now, you and me, right?"

Ron nodded, and they started walking to their assigned area of the castle.

"Could be you or me next," Neville muttered. "My gran's not exactly soft-spoken, and your whole family's pissed him off, haven't they?"

Ron shrugged. "Percy hasn't yet, but all of my other brothers are part of the Order now. But nobody can say we didn't know what we were getting into, y'know? They told us what it was going to be like. All of the adults were willing to tell us how bad it can be, even though most of us didn't want to know."

"Still, even we've got to feel lucky. Us and our families, he'll probably just kill. The headmaster, Harry, Professor Black . . . those are people he's going to hurt before he kills them."

Ron snorted. "And people think Harry should lighten up."

Neville shrugged. "A few more people like Kimberly will cure them of that."

"What d'you think he's doing with Dumbledore?"

Neville shrugged again. "Probably not playing Exploding Snap."

Ron chuckled, but then they came across a fight and had to break it up. They ran into a lot of that these days, and the night promised to be busy.

* * *

"We will, my lord," Crouch murmured, his eyes lowered, his voice soothing.

"Of course we will," came Bellatrix Lestrange's more strident tones. "And when we do, he will be your plaything."

The Dark Lord smiled at her, at the way her eyes rose though her head was bowed, dared to look up at him. She was like his pet, Draco thought with disgust. Like a lapdog who wagged its tail when the master patted its head.

"My dear, devoted Bella," their lord said. "Always so confident. Of course we will, but the question is how, and that is a question to which I must carefully apply myself so that I can be sure the action I have chosen is the best one taken."

Which was his way of covering up, Draco thought, though he tried so hard not to think it, that he had no idea what to do. He wasn't about to admit _that_, not the Dark Lord himself.

Bellatrix only gazed at him worshipfully, while Crouch threw in with, "Whatever your plans, master, they will be perfect."

That was why the master liked Aunt Bellatrix better than most of his other servants, Draco thought as he watched the drama play out. She was full to the brim with love for the master, but she didn't offer up meaningless words to get ahead. She got ahead by being ruthless and never questioning authority. She was looking at him now, and Draco stifled the shiver that threatened to show itself. Dear Auntie Bella gave him the creeps. Insanity shone out of her dark eyes, and Draco didn't know what had ever given Rodolphus Lestrange the courage to propose marriage to her.

It was obviously what she was looking at him for, what she wanted. She hated the fact that he even got invited to these meetings, considered her sister's traitorous little boy to be unworthy of the Mark that he bore. But it was his house, and so he lounged in a chair, hoping he looked relaxed in this company instead of on the verge of throwing up. She wanted him to speak up, to earn his keep. This was Potter they were talking about, after all. Who better placed than Draco? He knew he ought to make an effort to appear eager.

"May I be of service, master?" he called to the Dark Lord in a calm voice. Well, it sounded calm, but in reality, it was sort of dead. _He_ was sort of dead. He had been ever since the skull and snake had seared into his flesh. He was supposed to be proud of his service, but instead he grew more lethargic about it by the day. He needed to do better at hiding that. He needed to show his master that he was at least trying to answer the demands placed on him. Or he'd be truly dead. "I am certain that the boy would trust me at least long enough to lure him from the castle. You might not be able to meet him from a strong position, but he is no match for you."

Draco waited to hear what his master would say. He wanted to live, oh, how he wanted to live, and so he had to offer. But he was almost more afraid that the Dark Lord would say yes than that he would say no.

"It is tempting, because it is easy," his master mused. "But I think not, Draco. You would immediately lose your position at the school. There are several ways that I could bring Potter away from the school and deal with him swiftly, but I have only you to get me inside its defences to strike the greater blow. No, you shall simply continue with the task I have laid out for you."

Which was, of course, impossible to do. Well, perhaps possible, but not to him. He'd made an effort, of course. He'd searched out all the secret passages he could find, but they were too well known or protected by enchantments that were obvious to the spells he'd been taught to use to look for them. But that was as creative as he'd gotten. It would help, he thought bitterly, if he could muster up any enthusiasm for the task. Instead, every time he thought about it he got a mental picture of his Aunt Bellatrix chasing down and torturing to death small children.

But he didn't let any of that show. His face remained implacable, despite the way his heart pounded from fear that the Dark Lord would be looking into his mind. He couldn't afford apathy. He couldn't afford thoughts of dissension. His master would know, and Draco would pay dearly.

"Of course, my lord," he murmured. "My every waking thought is devoted to the task you've given me."

Which was the first entirely genuine thing he'd said tonight, he realised. His every waking thought, and some of his nightmares. But he had to do it. If it didn't get done, he didn't get rewarded, and if he didn't get rewarded, he didn't get out from under the other Death Eaters and into the role he saw for himself. He'd made the decision to come to this side, based on the benefits he would get from it. If the requirements of staying alive and on top were a little more stringent than those on the other side, then what was that to him? He already had a head start by having Lucius Malfoy for a father. And he was no coward, nor a weakling. He needed to try harder. Starting immediately.

"It will not be terribly difficult," the others were saying, while Draco wallowed in the depression that his constant fear had given him. "He is a mere boy, and an impulsive one at that. We saw that at the Ministry. We can get him out of Hogwarts easily enough, and dispatch him still more easily than that."

Draco almost laughed aloud then. What a pack of idiots. They honestly thought Potter was such a fool? Because he'd shown up to get his hands on one of the most important objects in the country before Draco's own master could do so? Both sides had failed, but neither side had been foolish to be there. Impulsive? Perhaps. But no fool. Potter wouldn't take their bait, whatever they were planning. He wasn't about to leave the safety of Hogwarts for anything.

But Draco kept his mouth shut. He always did.

* * *

"Harry Potter?"

There was a young student, probably a second year, standing at his elbow at the dinner table. Harry turned from his studying to look at the boy, whose name he could not recall.

"Yes?"

The boy was blushing furiously, probably at addressing the Great Harry bloody Potter. "Wow, you're— I mean, it's just—"

"Spit it out, mate," Harry said, not unkindly.

"You're wanted in Professor Black's office."

"Oh," Harry muttered. "Okay. Thank you."

It was just Sirius, so Harry relaxed. He hadn't even noticed himself tensing up when he heard his name. But as he forced his shoulders to release their tension, he realised that he'd already been very tense before the boy came along. His muscles felt cramped, and his eyes tired.

He trudged up to see Sirius with a weary feeling. He was studying all the time, these days. He was learning an incredible number of things from Dumbledore, alongside his course of Hogwarts studies, not to mention the extra Defensive things he was learning when DL meetings put ideas in his head. But it was exhausting. He felt like he hadn't been without either a book or a wand in his hand since the night he broke up with Hermione (and if he was honest, well before that, but before that he hadn't minded so much).

He poked his head in and cleared his throat.

"Oh, Harry, there you are," Sirius said, immediately standing up and moving away from the papers he was grading. "Come in."

Harry just stood in the doorway as Sirius came toward him. "If it's not terribly urgent, I really do need to study and get prepared to meet Reed at the lake on Tuesday, it's already Sunday . . ."

"Harry," Sirius cut him short, and then he was at Harry's side, gripping his arm. "Exactly. It's Sunday. When was the last time you took a couple of hours off? You know, not to study, or to practice Quidditch, but just to relax? Play a game of cards or something?"

Harry shrugged irritably. "I don't have time for all that right now, and you know it."

"I know that you've only been home for an evening once this entire term and you spent the whole night reading a textbook. I also know that it has more to do with your breakup with Hermione that you're letting on." Sirius gripped his arm tightly so that Harry couldn't pull it away. "You're coming home with me. I've already cleared it with McGonagall that you won't be home tonight. Come on."

"Sirius!" Harry snapped, and broke the grip on his arm. "I'm going back to the Great Hall," he muttered.

Sirius moved to block the doorway. "If you're still hungry, you can eat at home with us."

Harry glared at him. "None of the other students go home every weekend, so what makes it so strange that I don't?"

Sirius just rolled his eyes and bullied him to the fireplace. He was aided by the simple fact that Harry had no genuine desire to hurt Sirius, so he wasn't about to throw him down onto the stone floor and try to punch his head in to get away. Harry let himself be pushed in.

Remus greeted him jovially when he got there, looking perfectly pleased to see him. Harry decided he wasn't all that hungry, but he did get talked into sitting at the dinner table with the two men. He kind of wondered where Tonks was. Sirius had told him that she'd been coming by for dinner awfully regularly of late. Then he took a closer look at Remus. The man was pale, picking at his food, wincing at sudden noises or sudden movements.

It was the full moon, and Harry hadn't even noticed. Remus must have told Tonks to stay away from him tonight. He didn't want her to see him like this. Harry didn't think that probably sat too well with Tonks, and thought it was foolish of Remus to try to keep it from her. Unless Harry missed his guess entirely (and hadn't he made rather a habit of _that_ with relationships), Tonks would have to know eventually. But before Harry could so much as broach the subject, Sirius urged him up from the table.

Sirius dragged him into their sparring room, with an aside to Remus that Harry wasn't meant to hear but heard anyway.

"He's strung pretty tight, Moony. Can you make sure we've got a few remedies stocked up?"

"We're headquarters for the Order, we're practically St. Mungo's outpatient clinic these days," was the whispered retort.

Then Sirius shut the door, dropped into a crouch, and waited for Harry. Harry didn't hesitate. He leapt on his godfather with a muted roar, and Sirius was pinned to the floor in a decided victory for Harry within moments. Harry loosened his grip only slightly before Sirius leapt up at him, but Harry was ready for it. They both fought fiercely, and only got off the ground for brief moments. It was all wrestling for dominance, kicking, punching, choking—in short, brutal.

They exited the room drenched in sweat, spattered with blood, and swelling with myriad bruises. Tired, and much, much happier, Harry didn't argue much with the suggestion that he and Sirius take their Animagus forms for the night and stay with Remus. He was relaxed now, having worked off his frustrations, and ready to do something that wasn't work.

"Stay still," Remus muttered as he dabbed bruise cream all over Harry's face. "Merlin, you two nearly killed each other."

Harry shrugged. "You would have had fun."

"Sure, if all that violence and blood hadn't sent me over the edge and made me transform and start mauling you."

"You're going to be transforming in . . . oh, wow, about twenty minutes, anyway. Are we staying here?"

They looked at one another, shrugged, and Sirius ventured, "Anyone up for a run in the forest?"

Harry frowned. "We shouldn't be out in the open like that. Just us, alone. The Forbidden Forest isn't protected."

"By anything other than centaurs, werewolves, gigantic spiders, et cetera," Sirius said dryly. "Not to mention that we're going to be unrecognizable animals. We hear or see anyone, and we stop acting like friends. Come on, Harry. Live a little."

Harry grudgingly agreed, thinking _Sure, I'll live a little, so long as I don't get killed_.

There wasn't a soul, other than the three of them, traveling through the trees that night. It was a fantastic night, and Harry woke in the morning to go back to school feeling refreshed and ready for his studies. Sirius was right, again. Harry reminded himself that Sirius was often right, and that the doubts Dumbledore had raised in him on Saturday shouldn't change his mind. He needed to focus. He had a job to do. It was time he got serious about doing it.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** I must apologise for the lateness of this chapter. It reallly didn't want to be written. I have begun referring to it as "the thrice-damned chapter" because it gave me so much trouble. Anyway, I had a great vacation, but got sick on the last day and spent a week coughing up important internal organs. And now, after two and a half years of singleness, my love life suddenly got complicated. Not only that, but my day off is now apparently Friday instead of Wednesday. It's been a rough week. So I'm sure you can understand that I had a hard time getting this done. I'll try to update on Wednesday for now, but I may need to change it to Friday permanently, depending on what happens at work._

_Do me all a favour, would you? Let me know what you think of the poem, as well as what you think of the chapter. I'm actually a little proud of this one._

_

* * *

_

**The Wise One**

Book Three: Being

Arc Two

* * *

_Scene Changes_

transformation

day to day

changes

too fast to keep up

birth and death

maturation

shifting allegiances

nothing remains

fear

love

pain

shame

anger

lust

hope

living and breathing

betrayed and a little broken

dreaming

laughing

screaming

hating

smiling

sometimes just being

* * *

"Alas, how soon the hours are over

Counted us out to play the lover!

And how much narrower is the stage

Allotted us to play the sage!

But when we play the fool, how wide

The theatre expands! Beside,

How long the audience sits before us!

How many prompters! What a chorus!"

~ _Plays_ ~ Walter Savage Landor ~

* * *

Chapter Six

"Your partner's dead, Potter!" Moody roared at him, his real eye bulging while the magical one continued to make circuits around the room. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Harry drew himself up, glancing down at a boy called Zacharias that he didn't know very well. The boy was laying there with his arms and legs splayed, his eyes shut—for one wild second, Harry was afraid that Moody was right, his dueling partner was dead. His heart squeezed, then he reminded himself that he'd just seen Ernie Macmillan hit his roommate with a Stunner. Ernie and Neville, who were fighting in tandem against Harry and Zacharias, stood still and lowered their wands, grinning and high-fiving one another over their victory.

Harry wiped sweat from his forehead. "I was trying not to be killed, myself, sir."

Moody's fake leg thunked roughly on the floor as he stalked closer to Harry and glared at him.

"Did I not just finish telling you that when fighting with a partner, their life should be considered equal to your own? You didn't even notice he was about to go down, did you? You can only protect your partner through _constant vigilance_!" he barked.

Harry loved Moody, he tried to convince himself that he really did, but he was fighting a sudden compulsion to leap on the man and strangle him. If he said that phrase even one more time . . .

"Harry," he said in a quieter voice, leading him apart from the other boys. "Your problem isn't really vigilance, your problem is partnership. I've put you with three different people now, and you can't fight with any of them. Is there anyone in this room that you _do_ partner well with?"

Harry glanced back over to see that Zacharias was being helped to his feet by his opponents in the duel, and felt shameful guilt. Moody was right. He didn't partner well. He worked well alone, and he obviously considered himself more important than Zacharias or he'd have tried harder to protect him. He considered Moody's question. His eyes swept the room.

He'd been able to fight alongside Draco, but he'd turned out to be an unbelievable prat so he wasn't exactly here, was he? His eyes fell on Hermione, and before he could help it, their eyes had locked together. He was so surprised by what he saw that he didn't look away. She didn't look angry anymore. She just looked sad.

"You, girl!" Moody barked.

"That's Hermione Granger, sir," Harry offered, fearing what Moody wanted with her.

"Granger!"

She walked toward them cautiously.

"Yes, Professor Moody?"

"I'm not your professor anymore," the old man groused. "Do me a favour, partner up with Potter."

Hermione looked stricken. "Sir, I—"

"Just one fight," he said dismissively. His zooming magical eyeball came to an abrupt halt. "I'll put you against Weasley. Weasley, and Weasley's girlfriend!" he shouted. "Over here!"

Ron and Parvati strolled over, and began to scoot faster when Moody scowled at them.

"You're going to duel with Potter and Granger, here. I'd like to watch you work, if you don't mind." His roving eye paused again, and he turned around to roar, "If you two girls don't stop giggling and get to work, you're dismissed!"

Neville, who would have issued the same warning if he hadn't given this meeting over to Moody, scowled. These were _his_ students now, and he was obviously feeling rather possessive about them.

Moody turned back to the four students in front of him. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Hermione still looked helpless, as though she wanted to protest but didn't know how. Harry would have protested if he'd felt at all comfortable doing so, but Moody didn't need to know about his relationship problems, and Ron and Parvati didn't need to know any more. Unless Parvati knew everything, being Hermione's roommate and therefore within the range of acceptable female companionship during the breakup stage.

He didn't really have the chance to say anything, anyway. Parvati led things off with a nasty curse to boil the blood, directed at Harry. He shielded it and added a bit of humour by returning it with a curse to freeze the body. Parvati did deflect it, but it grazed her arm and a trail of ice crystals formed across her hand and on her sleeve. Ron was shielding a curse from Hermione, but he immediately expanded his shield to include Parvati while she worked a charm to release her hand from the ice. She locked eyes with her boyfriend, Ron nodded, and they both hurled a blasting curse at the ground underneath Hermione. Harry saw it coming and acted without a thought. He let out a sharp yell of warning to Hermione and grabbed her with one arm around her waist, lifting her away from the floor while he attempted to deflect the curse to a further point.

She was greatly surprised, to say the least, but she did take the opportunity to hit Ron with a very firm petrifying spell that he didn't block because he was too surprised by Harry, as well. Parvati ducked out of the way, then tried to return to Ron to get him moving again. She was unable to help him because she was getting bombarded with spells from both Harry and Hermione. Harry found himself moving according to some rhythm, like it was something natural to the universe that he was only just discovering. The rhythm was so easy to follow! Hermione threw a curse, and he shielded them. He dropped the shield to send off a curse of his own, and she spun in front of him to block what Parvati returned while he was busy. She shielded them both while he issued a rapid series of concussions at the floor around Parvati, penning her in. Just as Parvati started to panic, Hermione stopped blocking and threw out the finishing curse, sending the girl tumbling to the cushions.

Hermione let out a deep breath, turned to Harry . . . and found herself being jerked behind him while Harry desperately blocked a curse from Ron, who'd managed to work past the petrification. Harry was both quicker and more powerful than Ron, and put him down with only a few more spells traded.

Harry's hair, which was getting long again, was dripping sweat into his eyes. He flung his hair back and wiped at his face. He saw Hermione directing her wand to the back of her neck, and a moment later she sighed with relief as the cooling charm did its work.

"Bravo," Moody said, sounding at least less grumpy now. "I almost thought you couldn't do it, Potter. Well done, Granger."

"Thank you, sir," she said, a bit out of breath.

Moody thunked away to go work with someone else, and Harry turned to Hermione with an uncharacteristically shy smile.

"I guess we don't make a bad . . ." She turned away and went to help their opponents up. ". . . team," he muttered. _Okay, so we're still not talking, I guess. How long can she possibly stay mad at me?_

But he'd been looking at her when she turned away from him. She wasn't mad. She was almost in tears. She missed him. _Why doesn't she just say so?_

Harry, feeling more chastised than successful after that duel, determined to work harder at creating good partnerships with the rest of the DL. He was going to be useless in battle if no one could trust him to watch their back. That he'd done well when partnered with Hermione seemed to make that all the more clear to him, because he didn't think the two of them would ever find themselves side by side in a real battle. He had to work well with all the students in this room.

He sought out Ernie and Neville and went to work with them, forcing himself to focus more. He couldn't be as solitary as he wanted to be. It would be nice if he could, but that wasn't how it was supposed to work. He had to learn to be part of this. At least Ernie and Neville were willing to let him try, unlike most of the DL. They were either too afraid to partner with him or too snotty.

Moody's presence drove everyone to strive more for excellence that night. They stayed well beyond their scheduled time, so much so that Moody had to scribble off a note to the Heads of house apologizing for keeping them out past curfew. They trudged off to their dormitories as tired and sore as they could ever remember being. And in Harry's mind, that was a very good thing.

* * *

Harry sat quite still in his chair, his mind trying to encompass everything that had happened in the last few hours. Images rushing past him, facts and shocking secrets assaulting him at every turn . . . he was exhausted. Dumbledore looked serene as he replaced the bowl in his cabinet and returned to his own seat. Harry knew that he himself was looking rather haggard and overwhelmed, and he envied Dumbledore his calm.

He closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on himself. But when they slid shut, the sight of Dumbledore settling into his desk chair became a rush of memories, centred around a young boy with a brittle soul that had slowly become encased in a shell of hatred that hardened into something impenetrable. A boy who'd had no one and nothing, except perhaps Dumbledore, and who had been striving ever since for the recognition and love he'd been denied in his youth.

"It's a tragic tale," Harry said slowly, blinking his eyes in an effort to dispel all the Pensieve images from his mind. "I see why a person might think that he could have turned out differently. But I'm not sure that he would have. That intense desire to cause pain that he has—he was born with that. I think he always was going to be cruel."

Dumbledore nodded gravely, looking interested but not entirely convinced. "You think, then, that it was impossible to make him anything but what he is?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Look at me. Sirius took me away from the Dursleys and I think that's the reason I am the way I am, but he could have left me there and I'd still be really studious, still be better on my own than in a group. I think that's just part of me. In the same way, I think that if you had taken Voldemort from the orphanage at an earlier age, he still would have been a bully."

"I will not say that you are wrong," Dumbledore said cautiously, "but I think that you are oversimplifying."

Harry shrugged again. He probably was, but that, too, was part of his personality. He'd always tended to see things in black and white. But he was starting to recognise that he shouldn't, at least not as much as he did. Just as he was coming to see his loner status as a weakness, he was beginning to think that his tendency to make quick judgements was a fault. In battle, it was necessity. It was survival. But maybe it wasn't such a good thing in relationships and among allies. He wasn't sure what was making him change, but he could see a slow transition in his mind. A sort of softening that gave other people a little more room for error.

"I probably am," he said aloud. "But I just can't help but see the cruelty in him, just like it was in his family. They were all bitter, hateful people, and he seems to be sort of the end result of all that resentment. I guess that he could have been different, but only if his mother had lived, or if he hadn't found out where he came from, or something. He knew that he was the product of the Gaunt's misery, and I think it affected him."

"In that, you are entirely correct," Dumbledore said with more surety. "I am certain that knowing his lineage influenced him."

"You're not convinced."

"I think you yourself might have turned out very differently from the way you imagine yourself. Without Sirius to lean on, you would have sought the company of others. With the answers you needed given to you more easily, you might not have learned such habits of study. If you had learned of the prophecy from someone else, you might have put more faith in it. You see?"

Harry wondered if this was a technique meant to distract him from the heart of the matter, or if it was only that Dumbledore truly didn't see it himself. "Sir? You shouldn't think that way. You shouldn't think that Tom Riddle's transition to Voldemort was your fault. You didn't even know, sir, and by the time you did, it was too late. You can't think that you could have changed him. It's not as though you didn't try."

Dumbledore seemed to be angry with him, his jaw clenched and his usually open expression becoming guarded. He was looking _down_ at Harry in some indefinable way, despite how close they were in height. Harry began to suspect that he had overstepped the bounds of their relationship. Dumbledore was about a hundred years older than he, and graciously giving whatever remained of his time to teaching Harry as much as he possibly could. What was Harry thinking, to presume he could just say things like that to a man who deserved much better from him?

"I'm sorry, sir," he murmured. "That was disrespectful of me."

Dumbledore nodded quietly, shortly, and they moved on with not another word said about it.

"Let us talk about Hepzibah Smith," Dumbledore said, and they did. Then they discussed the possibilities for the unknown Horcruxes, what they might be and where they might be. Harry knew that at this stage, it was little more than wild guessing on his part. He needed time to assimilate the information he'd learned from the memories they'd seen tonight. But he'd perused his own memories several times, and they both agreed that Nagini, Voldemort's snake, was entirely too close to him to be merely a pet of some kind. She was a snake who managed to act in her owner's interests—she was too aware. And so she was likely a Horcrux.

Harry had not until that moment considered the possibility that Horcruxes could be living things. It didn't make sense to him that a part of his soul might reside in something that had a soul of its own. He suddenly had a very vivid image of his pet monkey Dudley, riding on his shoulder, and leaping to bite at Voldemort's ugly face on Harry's command. He clapped his hand over his mouth and tried very hard to look like he was yawning instead of guffawing.

He wasn't very convincing, and he ended up having to explain what it was he found amusing about Voldemort's cunning with his Horcruxes. Dumbledore mustered up a patronising smile, but seemed a little too weary to find any humour in it. Harry found himself apologising again, but Dumbledore shook his head, a genuine smile in place now.

"Don't be sorry, Harry. In truth, I am glad. You are being entrusted with a great deal, and the responsibility being laid on your shoulders is heavier than perhaps you've realised. I am glad that you are still able to laugh. You are a young man and you should have every opportunity to do so."

Harry found himself resenting that.

"I know very well what is riding on me," he said frankly. "I know it because I chose it. I got tired of running away and letting other people get hurt, and I came here to end all this. There isn't any responsibility being _laid_ on my shoulders, because I'm the one putting it on. So if I choose to laugh, I have the right." _And neither you nor Voldemort can say I don't_, he added rebelliously, but only in his mind. He feared it showed on his face, though, for Dumbledore's expression was hurt.

He changed the subject, once again, back to the their original purpose for meeting tonight.

"Do you know what strikes me the most about the way Voldemort went after those people in those memories? He went for them in their homes. He struck when they were in the place that felt safest to them."

Dumbledore nodded, a gleam in his eye. "You are beginning to see something that he thinks is a secret."

"I am?"

"You are seeing that he prefers the easiest path to get what he wants."

Harry was struck by that, and held up his mind to beg for a moment of thought. It all washed over him. The way he snuck up on people when they weren't on their guard, in their homes. Poison. Avada Kedavra, the quickest and most assured method. Sending Nagini into the Ministry to clear his way to the prophecy, and sending Malfoy and Lestrange for it. Playing head games to force Harry out instead of coming after him.

"I didn't realise just how much he was in love with himself," Harry said in disgust. "He's immortal, and he still doesn't want to risk his pretty face? What a jackass."

"A caution, though, Harry," Dumbledore said in a warning tone. "Do not underestimate him. He prefers the easier path, but that does not mean he will not take the difficult one if he must. It is not a matter of risking himself, only of risking his goals. And the safety and secrecy with which he has surrounded his person are tantamount to those goals. He will certainly take a riskier path if he feels it is necessary."

Abashed, Harry quieted. Voldemort was arrogant, yes, but Harry was going off making quick judgements again. He wasn't spending enough time thinking about Voldemort's motives. In his mind, Voldemort was wrong, and that was that. He could conjecture all day about Voldemort's methods, about what he would do, but he didn't spend enough time thinking about what lay behind those methods, why he did it that way. Dumbledore did. And that was why Dumbledore was the leader of this war, not Harry.

Was it something you learned with time, or was it simply something in his person? he wondered. Had Dumbledore ever been arrogant enough to assume that his enemy's motivations were unimportant? Because Harry was beginning to see himself as unbelievably arrogant, and he didn't like it. Maybe Dumbledore had always, even as a young man, been able to see things from another person's perspective.

"It becomes easier with time," Dumbledore said with a soft smile. "The only real requirement is the willingness to try to change the way you think."

Harry knew better than to be surprised by the way Dumbledore could read him, but he was still embarrassed.

"Do you think I'm conceited?" he blurted out.

Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry felt a sense of relief. Maybe he was being too hard on himself.

"I think you are young, Harry. And there is nothing wrong with being young. You are spending your youth at better pursuits than I did, and for that I admire you. I wish that you had the freedom to enjoy these years as you should, to waste some of it on the joys of being young and being certain that you are invincible and always right. But instead, you are here, listening to an old man ramble, and growing up far too quickly."

In other words, Harry thought sardonically, yes he was a total wanker but Dumbledore found all teenagers to be so, which made it okay.

Harry shook his head. "I know sixteen seems very young to you, sir, but I don't think it's asking too much for me to grow up now. In fact, if I was doing anything but learning as much as I could from you, _then_ I'd consider my youth wasted. I, more than anyone, know that there are no guarantees for how long I'm going to have intellect and energy at my disposal." _I could be killed so easily . . ._

Harry shuddered.

"Harry?"

"I was just thinking, sir, about Voldemort's tactics. The way he goes after people. He's sneaky, you know? I was just thinking that if he does decide to attack me, it's going to happen here, or at my family's home. And I don't like to imagine that."

"Hogwarts is a veritable fortress, Harry," Dumbledore said with assurance, but there were lines around his eyes. "I will not say that its defenses are completely impenetrable, but it is very unlikely. As for your home, so long as I am its Secret Keeper, you are safe."

Harry bit his lip. "Sir, I know that. But . . ."

It was wrong of him to say, he thought, so he stopped himself there, but Dumbledore knew what he meant.

"We are working on that, Harry," he said quietly. "Sirius and I have begun discussing who will perform another Fidelius Charm when I am gone."

Harry nodded, feeling a distinct squeeze around his heart. That surprised him. He hadn't expected to feel so sad at the idea of Dumbledore being gone. He was an old man, whom Harry was using for his own purposes, the way he'd always seen Dumbledore as using others. He'd never expected to become attached to Dumbledore, the way Neville was. But at the thought that Dumbledore's precarious health couldn't hold out much longer, Harry definitely felt sorrow. Strange to think that he would miss him.

"Enough of that for one evening," Dumbledore declared suddenly, a smile on his face. "There is time yet for a little happiness, don't you think? Go enjoy your evening, Harry. Shall we meet again after your lesson with Reed tomorrow evening to discuss any further thoughts you may have?"

Harry nodded, standing up. Dumbledore did the same, walking Harry to the door of his office. Harry noticed that Dumbledore's movements were slow and looked painful.

_He's dying. He's really dying, and he's starting to really know it. No wonder he's been more short with me than he usually is._

"I am proud of how hard you have worked to learn from Reed, my boy. You are quite a remarkable student."

"Thank you, sir. Speaking of that, I've nearly completed that study you gave me on the principles behind your research on dragon's blood. To have your notes has been . . ." Harry literally had no words to describe how amazing it was to have a copy of Dumbledore's original research notes. He'd never more thoroughly enjoyed being a geek.

"I am glad they have been helpful," Dumbledore said with a cheerful smile.

The amazing thing was, the modesty he displayed was real. He knew he was brilliant, but he never reveled in it the way Harry would if it were him. That, too, seemed to be something that would come with time to those who were willing.

"Harry, before you go, may I apologise?"

"Sir?"

"For the way I reacted to you earlier this evening, when you told me that I should not feel guilty for the path my former student has chosen."

Harry blushed and looked down. "I know that I was being really impertinent, and I'm sorry."

"No, Harry, you were not," Dumbledore said softly. "We have spent a great deal of time together recently, and I have invited the level of comfort necessary for you to be able to speak your mind to me. I should not have become offended that you did so. I am afraid that your words stung me, Harry, and in consequence, I treated you poorly."

Harry was dumbfounded by that. "Um, that's okay," he mumbled.

"You are far more a young man than you are a boy, Harry, and you are far more an apprentice than you are simply a student. I wish you to always feel that you can share your thoughts with me. I know that it was not your intention to be disrespectful in any way."

Harry hadn't thought of their relationship in so many words, but when Dumbledore spoke it, he realised that he would never have spoken to Dumbledore that way if he hadn't felt safe to do so. Sarcastically, if he didn't like Dumbledore, he might have said something similar. But now that he respected the man, he had only spoken because he thought he could. Dumbledore wasn't just any teacher, he'd become Harry's mentor. And Harry was surprised to find that meant they were on a much more equal footing than he would have said they were, if he was asked.

He was really going to have to watch himself, now. He actually had a reason to let this stuff go to his head, but that was a sure way to get himself isolated and killed by his enemies. He needed to do exactly the opposite of that. He'd been spending too much time alone, studying, acting like he operated on a completely different plane of existence from the other people at this school. That lesson with Moody had proven that.

What it meant, he thought uncomfortably, was that he needed to try to make friends again. Just because it had failed the first time didn't mean it always would. He needed to start over.

* * *

Sirius was distracted as he left his classroom to speak to Minerva. He was ready to go home, but she'd said something earlier in the day about having to send Harry and his roommates to bed the night before. He hadn't had his godson in class that day, and he'd rather hear it from Minerva, anyway, to be honest. She would tell him whether or not Harry had been faking the companionship that had kept them up studying and playing cards past curfew. If he asked Harry, Harry would try to downplay it or just say that he was creating allies or something. But Sirius didn't think that was it.

Harry was lonely. Sirius just wanted to know that Harry was finally making friends. Sirius was only now beginning to see just how solitary their life had been, and how hard it had been for Harry to make the transition to this school. It had been easier on Sirius, who already had friends here, and a home, and he'd already had a lot of experiences in this world. Harry had none of those things, and he'd been forced to sink or swim in a completely new environment. It made Sirius appreciate all over again what a strong person Harry had become.

As he walked down the hall, he got a creepy feeling, like someone was watching him. He wasn't sure what gave him the feeling, and shrugged it off. It was like an itch between his shoulders, and he tried to ignore it. Who would be watching him here?

When it happened, it was as soft as a whisper.

It was silent.

He had never known anyone was there.

An arm slid over his neck, tightened, and held him there.

Sirius felt his heart skip a beat as his brain tried to make sense of it. He was being choked. He was barely on his feet, being held tight against the chest of a smaller, more slender man behind him. One arm, corded with muscle, locked over his throat, while another arm held his hands to his sides. There was a breath in his ear.

_What . . . Why?_

"You're dead," the voice said quietly.

Sirius bucked and inhaled one precious breath. "Harry?" he squeezed out of his constricted throat. "What are you . . .?"

The arm released him, and Sirius immediately bent his knees and lowered his centre of gravity so he didn't fall. He spun around to see Harry standing with his arms loose and a strange, sad expression on his face.

"What are you doing?" Sirius snapped. "You almost scared the life out of me!"

Harry shrugged. "You were way off your guard, Sirius. You knew I was there, I could see that you knew. You shouldn't have let me sneak up on you like that."

"Where were you hiding?"

Harry didn't answer.

"There," Sirius said, the truth suddenly becoming obvious. He looked at the statue in the small alcove that he'd walked past not a moment ago. Harry had been standing directly beside the statue, and there was his Invisibility Cloak pooled on the floor beside it. Harry was right. He'd felt someone watching him, and he should have known immediately where they would be. It was the only place a person could stand wearing that cloak without the risk of being run into.

"Why don't you just tell me what you're doing?" Sirius said, scowling.

"Aren't you just a little bit ashamed of how easy that was for me?"

Sirius shrugged irritably. "A little."

Harry sighed. "You could have done it to me, too. We've started losing our touch, Sirius. We need to get it back."

Sirius stared at him. "You snuck up on me and choked me just to prove that you could?"

Harry nodded. "And I'll keep doing it until I can't surprise you anymore."

Sirius raised his eyebrow. "I'm guessing you ant me to return the favour?"

Harry nodded again. "We're not as safe here as we'd like to think we are, Sirius. We have to start remembering that."

"You're right. You're absolutely right. We aren't prepared at all."

"So you'll help?"

In truth, Sirius wanted to start punching things and blasting them to pieces. He was angry, on a number of levels. Angry that Harry had done it, angry that it had worked . . . but mostly angry because he agreed that it was necessary. They were getting soft at Hogwarts, and they couldn't afford that.

"Of course," he said simply.

* * *

Harry walked down the hallway with a book open in his hands, frantically trying to cram a few more sentences in before his next class. He was taking studying too far, Ron thought. Further than Hermione Granger ever had, and that was saying something. He was muttering under his breath, and based on the fact that Ron could not figure out what in bloody hell he was saying, he assumed it was Mermish. Harry said he'd been studying it for some reason.

He was also studying a book on Goblin culture and society, complete with a list and explanation of religious observances and holiday pastimes. He was doing so well in Potions class that Snape hadn't been able to find a thing wrong with his work, which was almost eerie. He was also about to fall down the stairs.

"Mate, the—"

Harry, without raising his eyes, descended the stairs beside Ron. Ron just snorted and let him read. When they could tear Harry away from his books, he'd turned out to be a surprising amount of fun. Not something they'd truly expected of him, with how intense he always seemed to be. When he was pretending to be Evan Rivers, he'd stuck mostly to himself, or with just Hermione. He'd been leading the Defense League, but he'd remained sort of apart. Now he was trying to be a regular guy. It turned out that he had a wicked sense of humour, and he was amazingly okay with losing at chess and cards. But only when they could get him away from his books. Not that often, really.

Then Ron saw, out of the corner of his vision, someone coming up behind them, too swiftly. He didn't know why or who, he didn't have time for that, but he managed to squawk out a sort of warning. It sounded a lot like, "Ah, what, look out . . ." He fumbled to draw his wand.

But Harry didn't even need the warning. He perked up like he heard something, dropped his book on the ground, and suddenly he was also dropping to the ground, turning around with his leg out, in a strange, spinning kick that was meant to sweep the legs right out from under the person coming up on him. But the other person sidestepped and came at Harry from the side. Harry was off-balance, and let himself fall all the way to the ground, rolling back like he meant to receive the attack on his back.

Ron had his wand out.

"_Stupefy_!" he shouted.

The attacker barely managed to block it, stumbling back against the wall.

"_Reducto_!" he shouted, blasting the wall behind him. The attacker jumped away, but was knocked on the head by a flying chunk of stone, and he tripped and fell onto the ground.

Ron stared.

"Professor _Black_?"

Harry had already jumped back up and was grinning at his godfather as he pulled him back to his feet.

"Good one, Sirius," he said. He turned to Ron. "Thanks for that, mate. I was just going to let him take me to the ground and flip him, but I like your way."

Sirius dabbed at a trickle of blood on his forehead. "Very good, Mr. Weasley."

Ron could feel himself blushing in embarrassment. They'd _planned_ this? And apparently he'd just been getting in the way?

"Harry, would you mind?" Sirius asked, gesturing with bloody fingers.

Harry quickly healed the small cut, but didn't have a spell for the swelling.

"I think I'll pop in and see Pomfrey," Sirius said. "Until next time, gentleman," he grinned, and bowed in the posture that conceded a duel to another wizard, something he'd taught them last year.

When he walked off, Ron turned to Harry with wide eyes. "I can't believe I just knocked my professor in the head. What was he doing?"  
Harry shrugged. "We're trying to stay on our toes," he said, sounding uncomfortable. "I just thought it would be a good idea if we didn't get too comfortable anywhere, so we've decided to stay in practice with this stuff."

Ron opened his mouth and closed it again. He wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. There was a time when he would have run off at the mouth anyway, but his years at Hogwarts and his current position of responsibility had taught him better.

"You think you'll get attacked here at the school?" he finally asked.

Harry began to walk again. "It's possible. Not likely, but possible. Besides, isn't that what the DL is really about? It's almost become a training camp for the prefects so they can break up fights and avoid ambushes."

Ron had to think about that. It was true that Neville drove them pretty hard, and the people who complained about it had long since dropped out by now. They had almost reverted back to their original number of members, but the ones who had stayed were all very serious about what they were doing—while they were in the Room of Requirement. Maybe Harry had the right idea. Maybe they ought to be preparing for fights to happen in unexpected places.

"I think we should talk to Neville about this."

"About what?"

"About the DL doing things like this. You know, being ready. I think there's a lot that you and Professor Black could teach us about it. What do you think?"

Harry frowned, thinking. "If Neville wants to do that, and if the DL is ready for it, then yeah. That might be a good idea."  
"I'll talk to him about it, then."

* * *

Ginny and Parvati were patrolling the corridors together, making their regular prefect rounds. They had their heads together, giggling over their conversation. To an outside observer, it was obvious that they were talking about boys, and thoroughly wrapped up in their conversation. Parvati was asking Ginny about something embarrassing that Ron had done as a little boy, and Ginny was blushing furiously as she asked Parvati's advice about whether or not she should try dating Dean Thomas.

They were capable of handling a situation, should they stumble across one. But they were using their prefect rounds as a time to socialize. They were an easy mark, he thought. He could take them both out before they even knew what was happening.

He leapt out, roaring the words of his spell before he was even fully on his feet. He got Ginny, who whirled around at the sound of his coming but had stupidly thrown herself in front of Parvati instead of defending herself. He turned his wand on Parvati with a howl of triumph.

She quietly, calmly, Levitated the carpet out from under him and Petrified him. She stood over him with a disgusted look.

"Next time, Zacharias, you might want to be a little less obvious."

* * *

Seamus and Dean hurried up the steps, their bookbags swinging behind them as they tried to make it to the library before they were ridiculously late. They were supposed to be in the library studying with some of the other Gryffindor students. Neville was probably up there throwing all his awkward moves on the girls right now, while they were joking around downstairs.

Seamus jerked to a halt when his bookbag split open just at the top of the staircase, and ducked to pick them up. But instead of reaching out for them, he pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes and turned around to where he thought the spell had come from. Dean was already on the ground, looking like he'd been Stupefied, although Seamus hadn't heard a word.

Another spell was coming from behind him. He could feel it, could feel the sensation of an incoming spell prickling on the back of his neck. He had time for nothing more fancy than throwing himself flat on the stone floor and rolling over to aim his wand with both hands in front of his face. But his flying spell was deflected, and his vision was filled with the image of a person pouncing on him. Seamus raised his arms and legs to hold the person off, but found his flailing arms wrestled aside and pinned by his opponent's knees. He tried to use his size to his advantage, scrabbling to get his legs under him to buck the attacker off, but the attacker had superb balance and control, holding him down without any apparent effort.

Seamus groaned into Harry's face.

"I'm never goin' to best you, am I?"

"You can keep trying," Harry said calmly, and just to add insult to injury, patted his cheek before letting him up.

"You will be begging me for mercy one of these days, just see if you aren't," he muttered.

Harry just grinned as he revived Dean.

"Comin' to the library, Great One?"

Harry shook his head. "I've got to study."

"That's what you do in the library," Dean pointed out. "You do know that, right?"

Harry snorted. "Well, _I _do. The rest of you flirt. I'll see you later."

Dean helped Seamus pick up his books. "We have to beat him sometime."

Seamus shook his head. "I hope we never do," he said quietly. "I'd rather think he was invincible."

Dean's face became grave. He didn't say anything.

* * *

Two weeks later, the only members of the DL who had not been bested in some ambush were Harry, Neville, and Kimberly Kearney, the girl whose father had died in October. They were all determined to continue these tactics, although several of the professors had been forced to speak to them about not doing it in class, in the middle of the night, in the library, Great Hall, and so forth.

Still, Harry thought as he slowly chewed a mouthful of food, the reflexes among the DL members were sharply increasing. They were getting better every time they were beaten by their fellow members, and that could only be a good thing. He read a sentence from his book, realised he was reading it for the fourth time, and shook his head to clear it. He needed to focus on his studies, not get all proud of the DL like he was still in charge of it. That was Neville's baby, now, and he had other things to think about.

He was doing the same thing he'd been doing for the last few months, reading during dinner and ignoring the conversation around him, but it felt different now. The people sitting at the table near him weren't ignoring him back, assuming that he was being conceited or something. With all the time he'd been spending with his housemates, they'd been forced to notice that he just studied all the time—it was nothing personal. Lately, Parvati and Ron would sit close by and push food onto his plate whenever he forgot about it. If they were busy, Gryffindor's newest couple Ginny and Dean would step in to make sure Harry was eating.

Harry had made them see that he was one of them. That he was a student and a soldier, just like them. He did very well at his studies, and he was better at fighting, but he was still one of them. The friendships that had seemed so impossible were becoming second nature already. Amazing, really, how natural it was to have friends. Almost like people were meant to be that way.

Harry did manage to finish his chapter, and rewarded himself by closing the book and talking to the people around him while he indulged in dessert. He was surprised to find a cupcake sitting on his plate already, but figured that Ron, sitting next to him, had put it there. Ron didn't really understand Harry's self-discipline about food. Harry could point out to him that it kept him lean and made it easy to exercise and keep his muscle mass, which led not only to the advantage in their fights but made him a good Seeker. Somehow, though, he didn't think the arguments were going to overcome Ron's love of food.

He shrugged and picked up the cupcake. He heard a dramatic gasp, and turned to see Parvati faking a swoon.

"Is Harry Potter putting down a book _and_ eating dessert?" she asked playfully. "Could it really be?"

Harry just grinned at her and took a massive bite of his cupcake. He felt eyes on him, and looked over to the staff table. Dumbledore was watching him with a smile on his face. Harry smiled back, brushing away crumbs from his shirt. He was still studying too hard, still spending too much time worrying about Voldemort, still growing up too fast. But it felt different now. Better.

He glanced down the table and saw that Hermione was chatting gaily with Neville and Lavender about something that had happened in class that day. She looked okay. Harry wanted to be jealous, but instead he was glad. He wanted her to be happy. It seemed she was better, too.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Hey, Harry. Harry."

Ron's attempts to get Harry's attention went unnoticed, as the boy with dark hair (with fading, sickly-green tips) had his face buried in his homework or independent study or whatever it was he was studying this time. Seamus grinned and nudged Ron.

"O, Great One!" he sang out.

Harry raised his head, turning his slightly bleary eyes to them. "Huh?"

Seamus snickered. "What'd I tell ya? It's probably his undefeated status in the DL that makes him arrogant like that."

Harry just rolled his eyes. Even knowing that Seamus wouldn't joke about it if he thought it was true, Ron could see why one would get tired of it. "What do you want, Finnegan?"

"Nothing, actually," Seamus said loftily. "Ron here does, though."

Ron rolled his eyes to commiserate when Harry turned to him with a frown. "I'm heading down to the Great Hall to get something to eat. Come on."

Harry was looking disgruntled about being interrupted merely to get cajoled into eating, but he seemed to realise that Ron might have an ulterior motive, so he got up and came along.

"I'm just passing along a message from my mother," Ron said, shrugging off the implied embarrassment of it. "Apparently, she's worried about what you guys are doing for Christmas."

Harry frowned, seeming to droop and show exhaustion that he had been hiding a moment ago. "I was _going_ to say that it's quite a ways off, to be worrying about it."

"Until you remembered that all the studying we're doing is because the term is over in a few days?"

"Yeah . . ."

Ron was starting to feel very bad for Harry. He was no closer to figuring out what Harry and Dumbledore were up to than he was when he and Neville had talked about it so many weeks ago, but he could tell how much time it ate up. Harry seemed more than just tired, though, he seemed on the verge of nervous collapse. Ron supposed that it was because You-Know-Who was out there, but the feverish way Harry threw himself into everything was worrying. He'd like to think Harry would still be alive and in a condition to fight when he finally faced the dark wizard, but not at this rate.

"Anyway, I'll take it that means you don't have plans. Mum was just going to ask Sirius, by the way, but they haven't both been at the same Order meeting in forever. Sorry to bother you about it. The point is, since you don't have plans, I'm supposed to invite you, Professor Black, and Professor Lupin over for Christmas dinner."

Harry smiled. "That's awfully nice of her, Ron. Tell her thank you."

"Well? Should I tell her to set places at the table, or what?"

Harry shrugged at that. "I have to check it with Sirius, but probably."

Ron smirked as a stray thought went through his head. "I think she's just feeling sort of like she has to make it up to you for having us over last year."

Harry took a breath at that, and Ron's smirk faded. It was hard, remembering last Christmas, when they'd been afraid Dad wouldn't make it. It seemed that Harry wasn't feeling great about it, either. Ron wondered why. He still wasn't sure about most of what happened, the night that Dad was attacked, but Harry seemed to have taken it far more personally than made sense.

"Harry?" he said, when the other boy didn't say anything for a long time.

"Sorry. I was just thinking about Kimberly."

"Kimberly Kearney? Why?"

Ron winced as the words came out of his mouth. Her dad had died, just as his father had come so close to doing, and it had been obvious to him that Harry felt guilty about it, for some reason. Maybe it was just that Harry felt guilty for not being out there, trying to challenge You-Know-Who. Maybe Harry thought he ought to be stopping people from dying. As if he could. He might be the only remaining undefeated person in the DL, but he wasn't the great Merlin yet. He didn't seem to know that the rest of them didn't blame him. Well, most of the rest of them.

* * *

When Harry woke up, his first day at home, it was nearly noon. He ought to feel disgusted with himself, but instead he just grinned at his ceiling and stretched lazily. He'd been asleep for a good fourteen hours, and he'd missed his morning workout. It felt great. He'd needed it badly. Of course, he planned to study for at least three hours or so today and he was delaying the workout, not skipping it entirely. But it still felt nice. Like something normal people did.

He didn't bother dressing, just went downstairs in an old pair of pyjama bottoms that didn't even cover his ankles. He pushed his hair back from his face as he descended the stairs, resolving to go to a barber and have it cut as soon as possible. He sat down at the kitchen table and tried to decide if he wanted something to eat or if he just wanted to make some coffee.

Kreacher appeared and made the decision for him. "Young master is awake," he said in greeting. "Kreacher will prepare a meal for him, and then he will do master's laundry."

"Okay."

A few minutes later, Harry had a full English breakfast in front of him and an admonishment to eat all of it so that young master did not waste away. Kreacher had already scurried away to collect Harry's dirty clothes, apparently fearing that Harry would protest. Harry wanted to say he wasn't that hungry, but then he ate the first bite and found himself ravenous. He practically licked the plate when he was finished. He sighed, and leaned back in his chair to enjoy the coffee Kreacher had made at his request.

Christmas break was off to a promising start, and Harry was contemplating the idea that he might sleep in again tomorrow.

Then Remus came in.

He looked pale and shell-shocked, and he didn't seem to see Harry. He stared around the kitchen as if looking for something.

"Um, hey Remus."

Remus blinked at him. "Welcome back, Harry," he managed to say, then turned around to leave again.

Harry jumped up, dispelling all thoughts of a quiet holiday from school and his contentment about his day. Something was wrong. He grabbed hold of Remus and brought him back into the room, directing him into a chair at the table.

"Sit down, Remus. Do you want some coffee or anything?"

"Have any whiskey?" Remus muttered.

"For god's sake, it's barely noon!"

Remus chuckled weakly at that, which gave Harry some relief. Whatever it was, it wasn't so devastating that he couldn't manage at least a pitiable laugh.

"I've been sacked," he shrugged. "Again. I guess I should be used to it."

"What?" Harry barked, his anxiety translating into anger when he heard that. Remus had been doing so well . . . "The restaurant can't fire you, you practically run it! What on earth for?"

He shrugged. "Everything went wrong in the kitchen and they couldn't get hold of me to sort it out. This is the third time I haven't been available when I should have been. They say they need someone more reliable."

"I thought they understood you had a medical condition?"

Remus was starting to look a little more resigned to his fate now, less shocked. "I don't have any medical paperwork to prove it. They think I have a drug problem."

"A drug problem?" Harry seethed. "That's stupid. Why don't they just give you a drug test?"

Remus made a face. "They offered to. I turned it down, and so they said they had no choice."

"You turned it . . . oh, right."

There were so many magical plants running through Remus' system that the test they'd give him wouldn't begin to make sense of them. It would look like he was on drugs, and some really weird ones at that. Of course he couldn't have a drug test. He'd probably be arrested or something.

"It's happened before, I shouldn't take it so hard," Remus said quietly as Harry went to the coffeepot to get Remus a fortifying cup. "I'll find something again, I always do."

Harry knew what had really gotten Remus upset. _He's gotten serious with Tonks. He's afraid of telling her about this, because he thinks she won't stay with him if he can't even support himself. This is so messed up! I don't know why they persecute werewolves so badly, and it has to change. There's no reason for a man like Remus not to be well-respected in his community. I can't believe Remus can be so calm about it. If I'm this upset, how must he feel?_

Sirius walked in. He looked back and forth between Remus, slumped over the table, and Harry standing at the counter with a mug gripped in a white-knuckled hand. He clenched his jaw and drew his wand.

"Your manager's the bloke with the comb-over, right?" Sirius asked in an ugly voice. "I'll be back in a while."

Remus shook his head. "No, don't. This might be for the best. The Order's been needing something from me for a long time, and now I can do it. Truth be told, I think I always knew I was going to do it, and it was only a matter of time."

Sirius just looked even more ugly when Remus said that, and Harry set the mug down deliberately and glared at both of them.

"Why don't I know what you're talking about?"

"Because it's none of your business," Sirius said roughly, glancing at Remus, who was pale again.

"Don't be ridiculous, Padfoot," Remus sighed. "Of course it's his business."

Sirius shrugged at Harry. "Dumbledore thinks we need a werewolf liaison, like Hagrid tried to do with the giants."

Harry felt cold when he realised that Dumbledore wanted Remus to go to the werewolf community and try to gain their trust. If Remus tried it, he was going to get himself killed. Harry had heard about what was going on with the werewolves. They were letting themselves be persuaded to join Voldemort, led by a real brute named Fenrir Greyback. Their leader had reportedly given in to his animal side, was addicted to violence and pain . . . and Remus was seriously considering going to him and possibly even challenging him.

Harry looked at the quiet, scholarly man at the kitchen table, took in the graying hair and the fear on his face. Harry shook his head.

"You can't, Remus. Don't do it."

Remus raised his head and looked at Harry soberly. "Who else could do it?"

"That's not . . ." Harry trailed off. The fear was leaving his expression, and being replaced by a cold determination, and Harry wasn't sure he would listen. "Would it help if I said I'll miss you when Greyback kills you?"

Remus stood up. "Thanks for the sentiment, Archie, but he's not going to kill me."

Harry made a choking noise of disbelief. "You're not even worried about it?"

"Of course I am, I'd have to be an idiot not to be afraid. But this needs to be done, and I'm the one to do it. I don't have any right to complain. When I said I'd do anything to bring Voldemort down, I did mean anything. The werewolves need a place to go, and better us than them."

He did have the ability to sound bone-chillingly logical when he wanted to. Harry shuddered, knowing how likely it was that Remus was going to get killed if he did this. And he'd gotten used to having Remus around in the last year and a half.

Harry stepped closer to Remus and stared him down. "I don't let my family get killed."

If he'd been any younger, Remus would have just laughed him away. Instead, Remus stared back, not budging. Harry reflected that all he was really accomplishing was making Remus more determined to carry this out—and if that was true, it was worth keeping it up, because Remus would need every ounce of determination he could find.

"Harry, this is your war we're part of," Remus said slowly. "You should be happy to have the help."

Harry flinched, broke eye contact, stepped back. That was a low blow. This was not his war, and Remus knew that.

"Sirius, you're being awfully quiet," Remus said, too casually.

Sirius sounded raw and hoarse. "I have nothing to say." He left the room.

After a moment of silence between Harry and Remus, Harry left as well, going up to his room to get a start on the studying he'd been planning to do. After that, he would look into the Pensieve he'd borrowed from Dumbledore to look over the memories a few more times. He and Dumbledore would be comparing lists of their beliefs about the location and identity of each Horcrux when he got back to school.

Below him, in their practice room, Sirius paced back and forth, raging. He would gladly be the one to go, but Remus wouldn't hear of it. Remus was the one who could make a difference. He punched the padded practice dummy once, twice, a third time, and then collapsed against it, using it to hold himself up. He tried to keep his cries silent.

* * *

The only real reason that Remus came along to Christmas dinner at the Weasleys, Harry thought, was to get away from Tonks. He was preparing to go to the werewolves this very night and was so totally and quietly anxious that Harry didn't know how he'd make it through dinner without throwing it up. Harry wasn't mad at him anymore, his anger had been little more than a defense against the fear of his death. But Remus wasn't here for dinner, he was here to escape Tonks. She kept trying to talk to him.

"All right, Harry?" Ron asked jovially, strolling in when Arthur had just finished welcoming them in.

"Oh, hey, Ron."

He heard a footstep behind him, and quickly grasped his wand to raise a shield, straining to include Sirius and Remus in it, just in case. A very feminine sigh of exasperation came from behind him, and he turned with a grin.

"Never going to happen, Ginny, not to the undefeated champion of the DL."

"Never say never, Harry," she grinned back. "Now come on into the other room, Bill and Charlie are here for dinner, as well. And _Bill_," she added with a glint in her eye that looked dangerous, "brought a _girlfriend_." She paused. "Those are my older brothers, by the way, Bill and Charlie."

Harry just smiled and said, "I know." But inside, he was gleeful. Bill and Charlie both knew him, but he didn't think they'd told anybody. Ron or Ginny would have mentioned it by now if they had. This might be fun.

Apparently, they'd both been thinking the same thing. They descended upon Sirius and Harry as soon as they entered the room.

"Great to see you," Bill said, shaking Sirius' hand. "There has been a dearth of ponytails in Egypt without you."

"Harry, my favourite pen pal!" Charlie boomed, clapping him on the back. "You never told me how you liked your first year of Hogwarts!"

Sirius and Harry greeted them warmly, offered a few exclamations of their own, and asked questions about work and life. The family just gaped at them. The four of them all turned around with matching smiles of amusement.

"You, er, know each other?" Arthur ventured.

"Oh, we're old mates," Charlie assured them, slinging an arm over Harry's shoulders. "Go to Quidditch games . . ."

"Get a few pints . . ."

"You know, like mates do," Harry concluded.

Sirius, left without a good line, just chuckled and took pity on the confused family and explained how they'd met. Harry was busy staring at the one person who was obviously _not_ a member of the Weasley family. She was stunning. Every individual feature was perfect, but the whole was more than perfect. Her figure, her face, that beautiful sheet of hair that nearly glowed, and something indefinable but overwhelming. After a moment, Harry was able to define it, and that gave him the ability to look away. She was veela, or part-veela at least, and Harry had never allowed himself to be susceptible to their charms after his experience with Stephanie. Must be that girlfriend of Bill's. Harry couldn't shake the idea that he recognised her, but he had no idea why he would.

She stepped forward boldly. "You are 'Arry Potter?" she said in a purring voice. He couldn't place her accent immediately.

"I am. I feel like I should know you . . ."

"My name eez Fleur Delacour, you may 'ave seen my photograph in ze paper."

French, then, that was obvious now. And Fleur Delacour, of course! The Beauxbatons champion from the Triwizard Tournament. He had, indeed, seen her picture in the paper, even if he hadn't followed her successes and failures in the tournament very well.

"Oh, yes," he said, and stopped there. Didn't seem tactful to try to find common ground mentioning the tournament, since she'd come in last and been injured in the process.

She saved him, stepping forward to clutch his hands and smile very prettily. "It eez so lovely to meet you, 'Arry. May I call you 'Arry?"

"Of course," he said gallantly, and kissed one of her hands with a wink. She giggled throatily. "So, I've been told you're here with Bill. How did you meet him?"

"I 'ave come to leev 'ere for a while, to eemprove on my Engleesh. I work for Gringotts, now."

"You seem to be doing very well with your English," Harry said, guessing that the real reason she had come to England was the long-haired Weasley in question, and stepped back to make room for Bill.

Bill slipped his arm around the willowy woman. "I see you've met Fleur."

"You're a lucky man, Bill," Harry said, privately thinking that Bill could have her. She was such an obvious flirt. Harry liked his women a little less catty. He let the two of them retreat into their own private little lovers' world, which true lovers could go to no matter where they were, even if it was sitting on their parents' tatty sofa with tons of people around them. All it took was one brilliant smile from Fleur and a tightening of Bill's arm around her, and they were gone. Harry found Charlie again and they chatted about Charlie's work in Romania for a few minutes.

Molly poked her head out of the kitchen. "Is everyone here, now?" she asked. Her eyes darted around the room. "Waiting for one more," she declared, before anyone could answer her, and ducked back into the kitchen. The smells coming from the room were unbelievable, and Harry thought he would cry with happiness when he got to the table. He didn't know who they were waiting for, though. That was strange.

That question was answered only moments later. The fireplace whooshed, and then Tonks stepped through, brushing ash from her blouse and looking very strange in a conservative skirt and plain brown hair. Harry hardly recognised her. Last time he'd seen her (the night Remus had spoken to her and it had ended in her shouting and slamming doors and him beginning to cry then going cold), she'd been in her usual clunky boots and purple hair. Harry wondered whether she had made the change just to be polite to Molly or because she was trying to say something to Remus.

This was Tonks, he reminded himself, who was rather brilliant and devious when she wanted to be. She would have done it for both reasons, and probably another one he hadn't guessed yet.

She shook a few hands and thanked the Weasleys very prettily for the invitation. Remus had retreated, looking pale and angry, into a corner, but Tonks was ignoring him. Very much on purpose. She'd followed him here, and now she was going to let him stew in that realisation.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said in greeting, giving him a quick hug.

"Merry Christmas," he returned. "You look nice."

"You sound surprised. I can look nice." She pretended to pout.

"I reckoned you could. Just never thought I'd see it. But I was being serious, you do look good."

"Thank you. You clean up pretty well, yourself."

"You sound surprised," he drawled, grinning. He did, in fact, clean up well. He was wearing a black button-down and a pin-striped vest with his jeans, and he'd finally gotten his hair cut. It was a far cry from his usual ratty t-shirts and dishevelment.

He was perfectly willing to help her make Remus squirm, since he was on Tonks' side in this particular argument (and he knew the argument very well, having heard it being shouted at the top of her lungs the other night). So they laughed and joked and he got her a glass of wine, and he escorted her to the table. The only people Remus talked to were Bill and Fleur. Fleur was being ignored very obviously by Ginny, so by the time they all got to the table for dinner, emotions were a little frayed.

The meal was excellent, which was a given when Molly was cooking, and was followed by a lot of groans about being too full and final glasses of wine. The Weasleys hadn't said a word about what had gotten into Remus and Tonks, but they were very understanding about the two of them slipping away from the table and not being there for dessert. Harry and Sirius did their best to be overly jovial to cover for the absence. It was, all in all, not comfortable.

After dinner, Harry and Ginny and Ron retreated upstairs, which was the safe zone for impoliteness and adolescence, so that Harry could ask them why in hell everybody was being so mean to Fleur. She was nice enough, and Bill was obviously infatuated.

"Exactly," Ginny sniffed. "Infatuated. She goes all dazzly and he just does whatever she wants."

"You can't be serious," Harry chuckled. "You think that just because she's got veela blood, she can keep him under her thumb for months at a time?"

Ginny shrugged irritably. "What do I know about veelas?"

"That they're bloody gorgeous," Ron said lazily, with a silly little smile on his face.

Ginny snorted. "We all know you went mad over her during the tournament, but—"

With a glance at Harry, she cut herself off.

"Shut up, Harry, I know."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were looking at me. You had that look that says you're disappointed in me."

Harry didn't deny it.

"I'm better than I used to be. Anyway, sorry Ron, I know it's no good taking it out on you. The point is, I think Bill could do better. That's all."

"He's in love with Fleur," Ron pointed out. "Maybe he could do better, but he doesn't want to."

Ginny huffed and crossed her arms, and Harry offered to let her duel him to a standstill so get it out of her system.

"I'd lose, so why bother?" she sighed. Then she gave him and Ron both a sunny smile. "I'm glad we're all friends now. You guys are so much better than the girls in my year."

"At least until you start in about how cute Dean is and how you doodle his name in hearts on your notes in class . . ."

"Ugh, I do not," she muttered.

"Ginny's more the type to get it tattooed on her ass," Harry snickered.

She growled in outrage, but then they decided to find Fred and George and Charlie to play some Quidditch out behind the house. Harry was determined to fill up his day as much as possible, so he didn't have time to think about the fact that this time tomorrow, Remus might be dead.

* * *

"We need to talk."

"We _did_ talk."

"We need to talk again. You weren't listening the first time."

"I heard you fine. I just disagree."

Tonks scowled as the cold air flapped her skirt around her legs. She stopped and Transfigured it into a pair of corduroys that would go a lot farther toward keeping her warm.

"What do you want me to say, Dora?" he asked. He was the only one besides her parents who could call her that, and when he said it in that soft, heart-melting way of his, she couldn't be angry with him. Except that she was. He was being so completely pig-headed about this, and she had to be tough until they'd solved it. "I have told you over and over that I don't want to see you anymore."

Those words hurt her in a way that these ridiculous pumps she was wearing never could. She stopped again to Transfigure them into more sensible shoes. At any other time, it would have made him laugh, but he didn't. Well, she hadn't expected it to.

"But I know perfectly well that it's a lie. You love me, Remus."

"You seem awfully sure about that."

"You would have said it to me when we had dinner a week ago, if you weren't so insecure. I could tell."

He sighed, and it sounded frustrated. "Okay." He turned to look her directly in the eyes. "I love you." He let out a nervous laugh. "That's just like me, to say it for the first time _now_. I love you, and that's the truth. I don't want to see you anymore, and that's also the truth."

She would not cry she would not cry she _would not cry_— Blast it all, she was crying. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why? You know where I'm going."

"Yes."

"And do you know what I will have to do?" he asked in a very soft voice.

She clenched her teeth and willed her tears away. _You are a big, tough Auror, and Aurors don't cry._ The tears obeyed her. "I can guess."

He was angry with her, she could tell. She could always tell when he was angry with her. "No, I don't think you can. I can't guess very well, myself."

"What does it have to do with us, though?"

"Let me tell you what I think I will have to do. I will have to fight everyone who thinks they can take me."

Faded clothes, premature gray hair, soft-spoken ways . . . she loved him for every bit of it, but it made him look like an easy target. He wasn't, but they would think so. Yes, he would have to fight.

"And then I will have to prove that I'm their leader. They are used to Greyback, and we know what he's like. I'm going to have to convince them there's a better way, but it will be slow. Until then, I am going to have to . . ." He struggled to explain it. "I will be causing pain. A lot of pain. For some time, who knows how long, I am going to have to do the one thing I swore I would never do. I'm going to have to give in to the animal. Not all the way, not forever, but I can't go in there thinking I won't have to do things that repulse me."

He looked so very, heart-breakingly, tired and afraid. She ached with every muscle in her body to touch him, but he would pull away, and that would shatter her.

"You can't see that, Dora. I don't want you to. I don't want you to see me that way."

Now she finally had the reason. The absolute torment she'd been through in the last few days was because he didn't want her to witness the things he might have to do when he went to the werewolves.

She couldn't help but laugh a little. "You stupid man," she cried out, catching hold of his hands and not letting go when he tried to pull back. "You stupid, stupid man," she repeated, leaning her forehead against his chest and suddenly choking on tears again. "This was all because you wanted to protect me?"

Hesitantly, his hands pressed against her back. "Why is that stupid?"

"I don't need it," she murmured. "I don't want it."

His hands were trying to pluck her away, but she wasn't going anywhere. "Don't you understand? I'm not going to be the same. I can't act like one thing when I'm with them, and then become something else when I'm with you, I'm just not that good an actor. I have to become this person, all the time. I'm not going to be who you want me to be—"

"I've never wanted you to be anything," she said sharply, pulling back on her own now. "I love you for who you already are, and this won't change that. You are doing this for the right reasons, and whatever you're forced to do . . . Remus, don't you know that we're all having to do things we don't want to? We're fighting a war, and I'm an Auror. I've had to do plenty of things I'd rather not." She found herself gripping his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "I don't care what you think you might have to do. When we know what you really have to do, we'll worry about it then. It's not as though you won't have done them if I don't know. But you're not doing it alone. We've talked about this. You've been alone long enough, and you're never going to be alone again. Whatever you have to do, you do it, and then you come home and I'll be there to fix it. You can't go for so long without having me there to heal you. I want to be there, and you can't make me go. You don't even need to make me go. I'm not afraid of you, Remus, and I never will be."

He might have started to argue again, but she had a fail-safe plan for winning their arguments. She leaned in and kissed him. It wasn't a quick peck to surprise him. It was a deep, binding kiss that claimed him as her own and made sure his lips were occupied until they forgot what they'd been about to do. Kissed him until he probably thought it was his idea to begin with. He might be foolish and stubborn and insecure and shy, but he was hers, because she loved him, and she wouldn't let him go. He would find it awfully hard to push her away if she was all but wrapped around him.

* * *

He watched them from the shadows, wanting to count them and figure out who was important. There were twenty-one, with thirteen men to seven women, and one who was barely a teenager, if that, and so skinny that he couldn't tell whether it was a boy or a girl. That was all he had time for, before their leader, the notorious Fenrir Greyback, lifted his head and stared right into the dark patch where he hid.

"I can smell you," he growled, stalking forward.

He wouldn't wait for Greyback to come to him, so he stepped out to meet him. His pulse hammered, and he was certain that Greyback would hear it and feel it. He'd given in to his wolf so completely that even in human form, his senses were unbelievable. But what did it matter if he was afraid? Surely he had the right to be. Surely everyone who found them, came here, was afraid at first.

He cast his eyes around their little settlement. Or maybe that fear never left them.

"What are you?"

That was a tidy little question. It summed up his name and qualities, and would basically answer the question of what he was there for. And there was really only one answer he could give, wasn't there?

"I am a werewolf," he said calmly. And in case that wasn't enough, "I've come to join you."

Greyback started to circle him. He followed the older werewolf's movements, tracking the placement of his feet, shifting his own in response. They kept their eyes on each other.

"What's your name?"

"Remus Lupin."

Greyback stopped circling and bared his teeth. In the periphery of his vision, Remus could see a few others do the same. Apparently they'd heard of him.

"I had no idea I was such a pariah," he said, trying to maintain the calm attitude he was projecting.

"You have been begging scraps from _their_ table for years, and now you come crawling to me, like a starving pup?" Greyback's teeth were hideously yellow and his face was a mask of degradation.

"I had no intention of crawling."

This was what he had to become, if he was to do this. Not ugly and rotted like Greyback, but dangerous and cruel and cunning. And he would. It started now. There was no more room for fear, no more thoughts of beautiful woman who were crazy as hell, nor more regretting that his new family would miss him. Just this. Just standing off with Greyback, and winning. He hadn't wanted this, had never wanted to _be_ this. But they couldn't afford to have this desperate little settlement go to Voldemort, and he was the only thing that could stop them from doing it.

Greyback was snarling at him, snarling and crouching like he meant to attack him. It would be next to useless in this form, although Remus had no doubt that Greyback had spent more time learning violence as a wolf than he had.

"You think you can stroll in here and do as you please?"

"I didn't think anything," he said levelly. "I've come to be with my people."

"Took you long enough," someone behind him muttered.

Merlin, he really was famous, wasn't he? Of all things, he'd never expected that. Maybe they thought he was Dumbledore's pet or something. But he'd bet everything he had that Dumbledore had shown him more consideration than Greyback had given to any of them. Hell, he was betting it all right now.

"I can smell it on you," Greyback said, just when Remus began to relax, to think that he'd say yes and allow Remus in. "I can smell your superiority. You think you're better than me." He began to circle again. "You think because your master groomed you and fed you well, that it made you better than me. But I've never been a slave, Lupin. I've never accepted what they said was good enough for the likes of me. You're a slave, and I'm free."

He began to shuffle his feet and follow Greyback's circling movement again. He felt the tension in his body, strained to the breaking point. He was expecting Greyback to leap on him at any moment. He was in the crouching position of a wolf ready to spring. The only thing to do was pick a fight and start it on his terms.

"I am better than you, Greyback. Twenty-nine days a month, I'm human, and I remember how to act like one. You were so weak that you gave in to what you are on that other day of the month."

As he spoke, he slipped off the patched cloak, the heavy robes, that declared him to be a wizard. He shed everything but his trousers and a t-shirt he'd borrowed from Sirius. It was all Greyback was wearing, and he was signaling his intention to see this through. He refused to shed his shoes, though Greyback was barefoot. He thought he might need them.

The other werewolf paused a moment, surprised by Remus, and Remus gave him a vicious, toothy smile. He might not look like much at first, but he'd been living and training with Sirius and Harry for a long time, now. He filled out the t-shirt quite nicely. He rather regretted that Greyback, not Dora, was the first person to see him in so little clothing, but he wasn't thinking about Dora now. Every moment, he slipped further and further into the character he was making for himself. The character was him, or rather it was the him he'd promised he would never be.

"This isn't what I want, Greyback," he said calmly. At least, it sounded calm. Inside, he was shaking with fear. "I only came here to join you, not fight you. But I have no intention of bowing to you." He broke the intense focus they'd maintained on each other to look at the werewolf closest to him. They'd created a ring around him and Greyback, and he made eye contact. "Did you all give in so easily? You just gave him your neck like submissive animals? Aren't you all thinking people, as well? Yet you crawl for him. Why? Don't you know that he's leading you straight to hell? Don't you know that Voldemort" (for he would not quail at using the name, not now) "will eradicate us, too? And you're on the verge of letting this fool take you to him."

The man he'd spoken to looked away. The muttering from the ring of spectators was tinged with anger. He'd probably turned them all against him, and it probably meant he'd have to fight each of them by turn. But he couldn't think of that now. Greyback came first.

And then he came. He leapt forward with a howl of rage, arms reaching and teeth bared. Remus ducked and put his shoulder into it. It was no great matter to use Greyback's momentum to roll the brute over his back and into the dirt behind him. He spun around to be sure Greyback couldn't get at him from behind. But he was still thinking too much like a human, because Greyback didn't get up again to hit him. He scrabbled forward and sunk his teeth deep into Remus' leg.

Remus let out a cry and jerked away, feeling the muscle in his leg tear. His heart yammered with terror, for the man was more beast than he'd wanted to believe. He was going to have to fight him this way, as some kind of animal? With teeth and claws? Remus didn't have to use teeth to fight dirty, but he did have to fight dirty.

So be it.

When Greyback came again, with teeth bared, Remus kicked him in the face. Greyback was jolted back into the dirt, shouting with pain. He grabbed for Remus' leg as if to pull it out from under him, but he sidestepped quickly and brought his foot down again on Greyback's arm. It didn't break, but he didn't pull away quickly enough.

_What use is giving in to the wolf if it means you can't fight as a human?_ Remus thought with bewilderment. Greyback was laughably inept at this. He relied completely on his big muscles and on the shock he caused with his corrupt nature. If anyone had wanted to fight him after he snarled in their face, one good punch from those huge arms had likely taken care of it. But Remus had learned how to dodge.

Greyback got back up and they ended up grappling for control, grabbing at necks and trying to land punches. Greyback kept trying to sink his teeth in, but Remus was quick. Still, between the dirty fingernails and the number of bites, he had ended up with a lot of small cuts that stung fiercely. Finally, Remus realised what a silly fight this had turned into. He stopped trying to land a punch. He slipped out from under Greyback's flailing arms, caught one of them, spun around behind him, and broke it with a snap so loud that some of the onlookers groaned.

He was too confident. Greyback ignored the pain enough to turn around with shocking speed, and the next thing Remus knew, he was on the ground with Greyback's teeth buried in his neck. He gasped for breath and beat his fist into Greyback's temple until the man was too stunned to keep up the assault and became sort of limp. Remus rolled him over and got on top of him and punched until Greyback's face and his own hands were a bloody mess. He was lost in a red fog such as he had never felt in his life. He'd never let go like this.

When he came back to himself, he was still straddling Greyback's limp form, each heaving breath making him aware of the blood that stuck his shirt to his chest. There were twenty men and women and one child staring at him in shock and fear. But a disturbing amount of respect.

He got up, checking to make sure that Greyback was breathing normally after that many blows to the head, and faced them.

"Most of you came here because you wanted to be with people who understand you. You wanted a community who supported one another. Greyback promised to change the way you were treated. It wasn't until you were under his thumb that you realised how he was going to change it. Am I right?"

The murmurs were a confusing mixture of surprise, assent, and ugly disagreement. Some of them had come here knowing exactly what would happen.

"And now that you've beaten him into submission, just like the animal you said you were better than, are you going to lead us to join Dumbledore instead? Fighting off whoever disagrees?"

Remus stepped away from Greyback, and staggered. "No. I wanted none of this. I came here to join you, but not if it meant becoming his slave. Those of you who want that life, you can follow him. I'm here for the same reason you came here, to find a community. If I have to fight off predators, then I will. That's all there is to it."

While they stared at him, Remus wondered how this might have gone differently. He could have let Greyback make the rules. If he had, he would have had to bow and scrape for favour, and become one of the ravenous, hollow-eyed men on the fringes of the crowd. He could have submitted instead of fighting. If he'd worked hard enough, he might have been able to bring some of these people away from Greyback. But this way was better. This way, it was clear from the beginning that the community was divided and that Remus wasn't here to become one of Greyback's lackeys. The people he might have been able to convince were already going to see him as a leader. Saved time, beating Greyback to a pulp.

In truth, he knew he had changed. Something about having Dora and Sirius in his life had made him different. In truth, the idea of submitting, of backing down from the fight, had not occurred to him until this moment.

* * *

Harry was the first person he saw when he stumbled back to the house, wanting nothing more than medical treatment before he went back to the other werewolves. He'd continued to play the hard case. Anyone who wanted to try to salvage a real community out of their group could stay. Those who didn't could drag their unconscious leader off to somewhere else, and be gone before he returned.

Harry was in the kitchen, which was where he'd hoped to quietly find Kreacher and swear him to silence. He wouldn't have even bothered returning if he weren't afraid of infection.

Harry jumped up from the table. "Holy crap, Remus!"

"Shhh," he admonished.

"What do you mean, 'shh'? You're bleeding like mad!"

"It's just a few bites and scratches. You should see the other guy."

Harry paused. "You beat Greyback?" He grinned savagely. "Stay here, I'll get some stuff to clean you up." He looked Remus up and down. "You can finish this tea, it's still hot."

Remus sank down gratefully and pulled the cup to him. His hands spasmed and he found himself barely able to hold onto the cup, much less drink out of it. He was shaking so hard his teeth were starting to rattle. Then a pair of hands that were decidedly not Harry's slid over his shoulders. He let out a gasping breath and leaned back into her arms, not caring how she got there or what she was thinking.

Neither of them moved or spoke. He slowly relaxed, with her arms around him and his head resting against her. The shaking stopped.

"I knew you'd need me," she murmured.

Harry came back in with his arms full of bottles and bandages. He was only too experienced in this kind of thing, after the job Sirius had taken in Austria.

"I can't stay," Remus said hoarsely.

"This won't take long," Harry said with assurance. He handed him a bottle clearly labeled as Blood Replenishing Potion.

Remus grimaced. "I'm not badly injured or anything, I don't need this."

Dora made a sound of dismay. "Your neck looks like raw hamburger."

Surprised, he tried to turn his head, and saw that the blood that made his shirt so sticky _was_ his, after all. It hurt to move his head. He humbly drank the potion, and followed all of Harry's further advice. Sirius had come in, at some point, and was standing against the wall with his arms crossed, just observing. Remus nodded to him.

He related, briefly, what had happened while Harry cleaned him up. As soon as he was certain that he wasn't going to die of blood loss or raging infection, Remus got up again.

"Thanks, Harry."

He tried to exit, but Harry gripped his arm, hard.

"This isn't worth it, Remus."

Remus sighed. "You didn't see Greyback. You didn't see how they feared him, and what he's like. I just took most of them away from him, and away from Voldemort. If he'd told them to, they would have hurt us. Now they won't. And that, Harry, is worth whatever I have to do."  
Harry bit his lip. "You're right." His grip became painfully tight. "Thank you."

Instead of leaving, he turned back to Dora, not even caring that the other two men were still there, watching.

"I won't see you for a while, but I'll wish I could, every day." Then he cupped her face and kissed her. He took his time and did it right. "Wait for me," he whispered. Then he left. There was a group of desperate people who wanted a leader waiting for him, and it wouldn't do to leave them for long.

* * *

Harry stood in front of his mirror and stared at himself. He looked frightened. He had good reason to be.

"I'm forgetting what this is all for," he said.

He stared at himself for another minute. He looked the same as he had before he'd spoken.

"I'm forgetting what's at stake."

"I'm forgetting that I'm a part of all this. I spend so much time shut up in an office or buried in a book, and I'm losing touch with all of it."

"I'm starting to forget that these are real people we're trying to save."

After all that was said, the thing he wanted to do seemed justified. Something he had to do, with courage and resolve the way Remus seemed to be doing his own task. Harry was in the same position: the only one who could serve their side in just this way. And he'd been refusing to do it all this time. Who did he think he was?

He lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing. Just before he slipped into sleep, he released the barriers. He'd held them in place so long, it was as natural as breathing now. It took real effort to remember how he'd constructed them, and bring them down. It took a long time, but he finally did it. When he fell asleep, his mind was naked, open to Voldemort's influence. It had to be done.

* * *

When Harry woke up in the morning, he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that he hadn't dreamed. It seemed that, unlike Harry, Voldemort wasn't ready to throw caution to the wind.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Harry's entire interest in Luna Lovegood had been her attitude toward life. He had found her so entirely different from the other girls at Hogwarts that it had made her attractive to him—she was so glibly capable and purposefully innocent. He wasn't sure how he could have explained that to Hermione when it had come up between them. What he did know was that there was nothing between the two of them now. And yet today, his respect for Luna's ability to roll with the punches in life had deepened. Today, he'd met Xenophilius Lovegood.

It was out of style to be a student of Deathly Hallows lore—at least in England. The best information, or so "Xeno" (as he'd insisted Harry call him) claimed, was still to be found in central Europe. Harry was inclined to believe him, since the first he'd heard of the Elder Wand was when living in Austria. Of course, it had been impolite to speak of it there, since that area had been so heavily affected by Grindelwald's reign of terror and it was rumoured that Grindelwald had possessed the wand.

Still, fashionable or not, Xeno Lovegood had been a veritable font of information. Harry had walked away from their meeting with a much better grasp on the Tale of the Three Brothers, and the symbol of the bisected triangle within the circle. Not only that, but a starting place, should he decide to seek for the wand.

It was that meeting that had led him to where he was now. He had another appointment to make today, back at Hogwarts, but his need to come here right away had been too much to ignore.

His hand brushed gently over the headstones, and he didn't care that his knees had gone numb with the cold. Sirius had never offered to bring him here. Perhaps he'd been waiting for Harry to ask him to. Or maybe it was something Sirius himself didn't want to see. Whatever the reason, this was the first time Harry had seen where his parents were buried. It was harder than he'd expected.

He'd thought that having Sirius was enough. It had always been enough, from the moment he'd known the identity of the ragged man on the back step.

Only now, it wasn't.

He wasn't crying. At least not for now. He was simply staring at those dates, those horribly haunting dates that showed how young they'd been. It wasn't fair, that he didn't know them. Not fair that they weren't here to see him. Not fair that he didn't still come home to them every summer and sneak out to let Sirius corrupt him on the weekends. He could picture the scene in his mind, of him and his little sister in the backyard of their house, shoving each other and making their mother roll her eyes as she walked past with a tray of drinks, while his father and his godfather were standing over the food on the grill arguing about whether or not Sirius should get married. It was what he should have had. He'd never needed it before. But seeing the place where they were buried changed something in him.

His eyes fell on the empty spaces around their graves. One was for him, and there were some for his children and grandchildren. But one day (if he himself was alive to make it happen) he'd make sure his godfather was put here, beside his friends. Harry knew without asking that it was what Sirius would want. And Remus? Fenrir Greyback and his little band of fighters were a constant menace to the community Remus led, and Harry was afraid a major attack was on its way. They would lay Remus, who was not welcome in his family plot, in one of these empty spaces only too soon.

He stood up, altogether too abruptly. He didn't realise that he'd clenched his hands into fists in the soil, not until he saw the little crumbles of dirt falling away from his fingers. Surprised, he relaxed his hands and wiped them on the legs of his trousers. He hadn't come here for this. He wanted information, if he could get it. He'd come here because of Xeno Lovegood.

He began walking the graves. If his family had been buried here for generations . . . he found it. He almost walked past it without stopping, so intent was he on continuing his search come hell or high water. He actually had to backtrack a few steps. He didn't kneel down again in front of the new stone; feeling was only just coming back to his knees. But it was there, and he felt something inside him clench up with a strange, anticipatory fear.

PEVERELL

So it was here.

When Harry had listened to Xeno talk about the Hallows, he'd allowed himself to think about each object individually. For so long, he'd only been interested in the Wand. But he found himself getting a queer tight feeling in his stomach as Xeno described the powers of the Cloak. It was like no other cloak in the world, the claim went, and so far as Harry knew, that was true. He'd only come across one that matched the description. He owned it.

And so he'd come to the graveyard, looking for Peverell graves. It made a lot of sense, now, that Dumbledore had kept it all these years and had been so slow to give it to him. If it was THE Cloak, Death's Cloak (and Harry had a strong suspicion that it was), then it must have been a very hard decision, on Dumbledore's part. He'd trusted James, but not Harry, not much. He did now, or seemed to. Maybe he was simply bowing to what he believed was inevitable.

Harry had a decision of his own to make. He had to decide if he believed in all this, in the tales of the Hallows and their power. Later, he wouldn't recall walking over there, but he was suddenly standing before the graves of James and Lily Potter again, staring down at them. Wondering if they were angry over their death, as he was. It was the Wand he wanted. At first, his thought had been to escape from the deathgrip that Voldemort and prophecy had on him. With the Elder Wand, he could win in spite of his shortcomings as the Dark Lord's foe, and he could do it on his terms. But it became something more as he stood there.

Voldemort had stolen his happy life with his family, and left him with this queer and lonely life in which few options existed. For that, he wanted to make Voldemort hurt. And he could. He could do it with the Deathstick.

* * *

On the day of Harry's first appointment to enter the lake, Reed had declared that he was not ready. His people would be impressed that Harry was so willing to try, he said, but Harry would look foolish to them. If he did not mind that, then he could go. Harry had declined, and had set himself to more intensive study of Mermish. The Merpeople did not celebrate Christmas, but Reed had spent enough time talking to Dumbledore and to some of the forest creatures, that he understood why Harry would not be able to try again for a while.

Today, a month after returning to school, Reed said that Harry was ready, and Harry agreed. He'd already informed Sirius and Dumbledore that he would likely be entering the lake today, so he wasn't worried about drowning or random underwater attacks. Those two would come look for him if he didn't come back. He had a small dueling sheath for his wand strapped to his arm, to renew the Bubble-Head Charm he planned to perform.

"Your preparation is complete but for one thing," Reed said, and held out his hand to Harry. In the webbed palm was coiled a slimy substance that Harry didn't immediately recognise. "Eat this."

Harry frowned. He liked Reed well enough, after a few months of weekly lessons, but _really_. "What is it?"

"So suspicious, Harry," Reed chuckled. Harry still hadn't quite accepted how funny his name sounded with a Mermish accent. "It is only gillyweed. When I spoke to Dumbledore, he assured me that you would enjoy this more than a spell."

Harry recognised the sketch from his Herbology textbook in that very alive-looking coil of slime, now. "Oh, right." He quickly scooped it up and popped it into his mouth. It tasted awful, but better than some of the things he'd tasted in the pursuit of advanced knowledge of Potions.

As soon as the gasping tightness in his chest began, he dove into the lake. He was not an excellent swimmer, but he did know how to dive without getting water up his nose. He saw the shine of Reed's scales as he went under, and oriented himself in that direction. When he turned, Reed was there, grinning with his mossy teeth and looking cheerful where he was normally rather sober.

"Will you follow me?" he asked, the musical tones dancing across the small currents created by his tail, spinning in little swirl of bubbles to Harry.

Harry gasped in delight. He never would have imagined how much better Mermish sounded when spoken in the proper habitat.

"I will, teacher," he said in a serious voice, but he was grinning in return.

Reed whirled with a flash of his tail, and the grace that belonged to the Merpeople became evident as Harry struggled to follow.

"I will take you to my home, where you can meet my wife," Reed called behind him as he swam deeper and deeper, with powerful waves of his tail. He did not concern himself with whether or not Harry could keep up. With him (and likely with his entire clan, Harry thought) you kept up or you didn't come. "Then I will bring you to our meeting place so that any who wish to meet you, can."

"I am honoured," Harry said, almost shouting to be sure his voice would make its way up to Reed. It was a strange and alien feeling, to be panting for breath and to feel water moving through the gills that had formed in his neck. His lungs tried to heave with effort, and the sides of his neck expanded and pushed the cold lake through. It was utterly amazing.

There was a small collection of huts at the bottom of the lake, formed out of stone and weed and bone. It was crude-looking, but somehow graceful and beautifully alien—like Reed himself. Harry had settled into a rhythm, and swam more casually now, giving him the time to look at the huts as they swam by. Some were more elaborate than others, with braided vine or branches forming arching doorways, or with stone of different hues creating patterns in the walls. Reed gave a last powerful stroke of his tail and pulled open the woven-branch door of the hut Harry guessed was his own. Delicate fronds of lake weed created curtains that Harry had to brush away as he followed Reed inside.

There were strange half-arches formed from the floor of the lake that were collected in a small ring of four in the middle of the room, weird depressions with high curving tops. Onto the walls had been fastened interesting creations of woven plant life and bone—wall art, Harry realised. There was another curtain of waving fronds that must be covering the entry to the rest of the hut.

A hand brushed aside this curtain, a hand that was small but too calloused to be considered delicate, and a Mermaid emerged. She was a tiny thing, compared to Reed, and very slender, but she looked strong for all that. Her hair was short, held back from her face with a comb of sorts made from fish bone. Her face broadened into a smile.

"Welcome. You must be Harry, Reed's wizard student."

She spoke in slow, careful tones for Harry's benefit. Harry followed the custom he'd learned from Reed, spreading his hands in front of him and dipping his head, a horribly difficult proposition when he was also frantically trying to keep himself in an upright position underwater. He was momentarily surprised by the sight of his own hands, webbed as they were, but he straightened up with admirable poise.

"I thank you for your invitation, lady."

Reed had confided to Harry that calling their women "lady" was likely a custom they'd picked up when they had more regular contact with wizards, but it wouldn't do to point out to a Merperson that anything in their culture had come from humans. They preferred to think wizards picked up habits from _them_.

"This is my wife, Sylphia," Reed said, sounding proud.

"Please, come in and rest," the small Mermaid said, gesturing at the weird shapes rising from the floor. "I have almost finished preparing some refreshment."

Reed laughed at Harry's befuddlement, and his wife's laughter joined his to create a night sky of bubbles instead of stars over their heads. He maneuvered himself into a sitting position inside the depression. The weird arch was over his head, and held him down so that he did not float into the ceiling. They were chairs!

He slowly figured out how to sit in one, and did his halting best to respond to Reed's steady, bubbling voice. This was normal, so he didn't feel embarrassed, at least not until Sylphia came back and began speaking in those same lilting, musical tones. Harry spoke with hesitation, wishing once more that there was someone back at school whom he could practice with. When he was with Dumbledore, they had more important things to do.

He was nervous about the "refreshment," thinking that he was going to be consuming a pile of fish gut and lake weed salad. Instead, he was given something that greatly resembled sushi. He even discovered that he had the linguical skills to inquire about the rice-like substance. The best he could figure out from the response was that the Merpeople cultivated it in the muddy bottom of the lake. Reed told him that his folk, here in the lake, had come from the great seafolk, and this was a dish they had been preparing since time immemorial. Sushi was something wizards had gotten from merfolk and then passed along to the rest of humanity.

Harry was positively gleeful about that—that was the sort of things he'd begun his studies with Reed to find out. His mind automatically began tracing a course of studying with the lake folk until he finished at Hogwarts, then moving to the Mediterranean coast where the Merpeople of the sea still flourished to study with them. They would likely speak a different dialect that he would have to adapt himself to, but the number of things he could find out . . .

Apparently, he'd been speaking aloud, because Reed and Sylphia were laughing at him. Which was strange, because he'd been speaking in English, so far as he knew.

"What is the reason for your laughter?" Harry asked. Mermish _really_ needed to develop the word "_why,_" in his opinion.

"You a scholar, as my husband," Sylphia answered in broken English. "You and Reed love study, the same way."

Reed began laughing, the sound flying in bubbles around the room. "As you can see, my wife is not the student we are."

Harry didn't feel right about laughing at Sylphia, but she was laughing herself.

"I do not have dedication such as you or Reed does," she admitted, switching back to Mermish. "But Harry," she said, her face growing serious, "even my husband, with his need to know all the history of our people, does not weary himself as I see you do."

"I don't understand," Harry said automatically. He was getting tired of accusations that he wore himself out too much.

Sylphia, perhaps thinking that he didn't possess the capacity for language to understand her, floated gracefully forward to trace the circles under his eyes with her strong, small hands. "This is not from study, though. I know what worry looks like. My husband has told me of what is happening in the above. The wizards are at war again. Is this your worry?"

Harry pulled his head back. "I'm fine, but I thank you."

She made a noise of disbelief, and gave his cheek a maternal pat. "Reed should have told you, you cannot lie to me. I always know."

He tried to smile at her, and found that he had to revert again to English. He hoped she would understand. "I've been told that I take too much on myself. What can I say? I do it on purpose, so I have no reason to complain."

"This makes sense," Sylphia said frankly, "but is not an excuse to kill yourself for the world."

Harry shrugged, understanding her Mermish well enough to know what she was getting at. "The world needs saving. If not me, then who?"

She had no response, and floated back to her seat. "I like him, Reed."

Reed grunted, busy with eating a piece of his wife's cooking. He'd heard this from Harry before. "I said you would," he muttered. "I've liked him for months. I have the responsibility of ambassador for our people, and I do not invite wizards down here if I do not like them."

"You let those foolish children down here," she said primly. "That bird girl nearly got killed."

"I did that for Dumbledore," Reed said dismissively. "They didn't stay long, and I knew Pesca and Murk would love threatening them. Harry is different."

"I am?" Harry said.

"You are here to learn," Reed shrugged. "We are a culture that appreciates such things. We are entrusted with ancient secrets and knowledge that wizards have forgotten, but you have come to find out. As I told you, when we first began to meet, you have a responsibility now. To my people. You must hold our secrets as close as we do, but you also must find one person you trust, to pass the knowledge along."

Harry had thought, when Reed first said this, that it was sort of a symbolic thing, or a tradition. He could see now that Reed had meant it. And suddenly he realised what his desire to learn meant to Dumbledore. Dumbledore had been entrusted with the knowledge of the Merfolk, and he had to find someone to pass the knowledge along to. Harry had come along just when Dumbledore had probably begun to believe that he would fail to keep that trust.

"Is the origin of sushi a secret?"

Reed didn't laugh, as Harry had thought he would. "It is knowledge of my people, and you must hold it with care. Can you think of problems it would cause if this became common knowledge? Or if people knew that we can sing the fish to us, or that we still know secrets about wizards and other humans from long ago?"

Harry began to see Reed's point. He had a brief image of flocks of people standing on the shore of every major body of water in the world, begging the Merpeople for every secret they had—or terrorizing them in a malicious battle to prove the legitimacy of their claims. Or killing them to cover up information about their ancestors. He shuddered.

"I understand my responsibility," he said humbly.

Reed nodded curtly. "I knew that you would, or I would not have taken you as my student."

Harry thought about that for a moment, and a small smile spread over his face. He liked being this trustworthy. The burden of the things he was learning, of all the things he was trying to learn, was very heavy. But it helped, to know that he had this burden because he'd earned it.

He took a second dose of gillyweed before Reed took him to the meeting place for his tiny village. It was the same place, he said, that the "hostages" had been held during the Triwizard Tournament. The entire community turned out to meet him. They were all intensely curious about whether or not their village scholar was touched to be teaching a teenaged wizard from above the secrets of their people. Harry did his best to reassure them. He was at his most charming, but didn't make the mistake of joking around. They were a serious people and he didn't have a handle on their sense of humour yet.

But he'd get it eventually, because he'd be back. As cold and foreign as it was, he liked it down here. Or maybe he liked it because it was cold and foreign. It brought to him the same feeling of relaxation that he had when he was in his Animagus form, and when he'd lived as a Muggle. He was someone else, then. He got to be nothing more or less than who he wanted to be.

* * *

Harry was feeling weary as he made the cold trudge back to the castle. He had dried himself off quickly with his wand, but it was February and being dry didn't mean it wasn't cold out. He picked up his pace, but he wasn't all that eager to get back inside. He'd missed a DL meeting because he'd spent so long under the lake, and he'd have to face Neville's disappointment. Neville sort of counted on him, as the still-undefeated champion of DL ambushes (which had mostly died out by now, except the attacks on him) to be there to keep morale high. Ron and Ginny would probably pester him about where he'd been, as well, which would be difficult to explain since he didn't ever talk about the Hallows or his Mermish studies.

It was a Saturday night and there weren't many students in the corridors or on the stairs in the castle. He made it up to Gryffindor Tower unmolested and entered it with his mood bolstered by not having to fight for his life on the way up.

"Evening," he said to the room at large, and sauntered over to where his roommates were working on a Transfiguration essay. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck that meant he was being watched, but he ignored it. It was sort of his job to look over everyone's essay before they turned them in, so they were likely waiting for him. "Can I join you lot? I still have to finish my essay."

The tension in the room was creeping over him. He put his hand on his wand, which still rested in the arm sheath. His roommates all looked up at him simultaneously, with expressions that he absolutely couldn't read. He felt queer, like someone had died—_oh god someone had died_—

"Is someone dead?" he said aloud, his voice sounding stupid.

"We thought you might be, mate," Ron answered, his essay forgotten.

"Me?" Harry said, startled. "Why?"

Seamus, for once, did not poke fun at him or call him Great One. "You've been gone all day, Harry, with not a word of where you were goin' or why."

Harry slowly turned to see nearly every eye in the room firmly fixed on him. "So you thought I was dead?" he asked. _This is their first and best guess?_

Neville gave him a very sober look. "It's not beyond reason, is it? Considering who you are and what you're involved with."

Harry was stopped in his mental tracks. For a moment, he didn't know how to respond. Then he abruptly sat down, feeling queasy and pale.

"You thought I'd gone to Voldemort?" he said, his voice hushed, hoping to keep this conversation at least nominally private. "And that I'd been killed?"

Dean spoke up when the other three seemed to be too uncomfortable. "We didn't really think so, or we'd have gone to one of the adults—well."

"Well, what?"

"Ron said only a minute before you walked in that if you weren't here by the time he finished the next paragraph, he was going to find your godfather. So we didn't really think you were dead, but . . . well, okay, we were worried."

"If you had gone to Sirius, you wouldn't have been. He knew where I was."

"Where were you?" Ron challenged.

Harry shrugged. "I was talking to a couple of experts about some of the subjects I'm studying."

Ron knew better than to press him for details at this point, but he did give him a look that communicated repressed anger. "Next time you decide to disappear for an entire day, would you mind telling someone?"

Harry experienced another moment of being too stunned to come up with something to say. Why were they so concerned as to his whereabouts? Did they really think he was so foolish that he'd go haring off to take on Voldemort's entire army without even telling anyone about it?

Okay. He might be able to think of a few circumstances in which he'd want it to be a secret, like if he was planning to infiltrate Voldemort's stronghold or something. But he probably wasn't going to do that. And they ought to know he wasn't ready to try. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure he liked how upset they were. He was so tired of being a symbol or whatever he was.

"You guys really need to figure out that if I'm gone, someone else can take care of Voldemort. I don't see myself dying anytime soon, but even if I do, I assume you're planning to keep fighting."

The other boys gave each other very odd looks.

"What?" Harry snapped.

"Of course we'd keep fighting," Ron said. "That's not really the point I was trying to make. We were concerned because you're a friend of ours."

"Oh," Harry said, only just beginning to understand.

"I might even be sort of sad if something were to happen to you," Ron said in a dry tone. "Not that I'd miss you or anything, you great prat. Who would miss someone so completely clueless?"

Harry wished he was dead. This wasn't exactly a comfortable moment for anyone, least of all him. He was a secretive and emotionally distant bastard, wasn't he? He didn't contribute anything to this little group but mental stress and stringent standards of personal discipline. They humoured him, but he couldn't imagine they'd miss it if he wasn't there. The only thing he could conceivably be good for, as a friend, was that he could always be counted on to correct their essays.

"You forgot short-tempered," he joked. "Seriously, I do still need to finish my essay, so I'm going to run upstairs and get it. Will you still be a while down here, or should I head to the library?"

The others looked like they wanted to say they were done, but Ron spoke first.

"I still have quite a way to go. You know me and essays."

So Harry stood up, with a desperate desire to get away from the table for a moment and get his mind into some semblance of order. His day had been intensely up-and-down, and riddled with moments of self-doubt and feelings of being the only one of his kind in the world. He hadn't been prepared for this.

He almost laughed as he headed for the stairs. Apparently he wasn't the undefeated champion of ambushes, after all.

In fact, his second defeat came only moments later. Hermione was sitting very near the stairs, with Parvati on one side, and a seventh-year named Jonny Burgar from their Ancient Runes class on the other. Her eyes were red and she was in the classic "being-comforted" pose. And it was _Burgar_. Sitting there patting her hand. So he finally understood why Hermione got so cheesed about seeing him talk to Luna once in a while.

She looked up at him, and suddenly stood up and walked over to him. They were all watching, but Harry's glare took care of that, and every student in the room was immediately _very_ interested in their games and homework. Except Jonny Burgar, who watched him with a worrisome intensity.

But he didn't care about Burgar, he cared about his ex-girlfriend. Her still-wet eyes undid him completely. "Hermione, are you all right?" He reached out to her, unable to help the compulsion to comfort her.

She flinched, but allowed his hands to rest on her shoulders. "No."

"What's wrong? Can I help?"

She seemed to steel herself, and her red-rimmed eyes ceased to be pathetic and became a sort of weapon. "They were saying something had happened to you."

"I know," he said, feeling embarrassed all over again.

"I felt so . . ." She trailed off. "Harry, I couldn't bear it if it were true. Even thinking about it has got me so upset that I burst into tears over some ink spilled on my translation. Jonathan is oblivious of course, he thinks it's my time of the month or something, but I'm sure Parvati knows why I'm so upset."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not _trying_ to say anything. I just said it. I care about you a great deal, and I would be very upset if you were hurt or killed. Please don't let that happen."

"I'll do my best," he said, not without some exasperation. He didn't think this day could get any weirder, for one thing, and for another, why did everyone seem to think he was that anxious to throw himself into the jaws of death? He didn't want to say any of that, though, so he just said what was on his mind. "I miss you, Hermione. You're the best friend I've ever had."

"I miss you, too," she whispered.

"Are you still angry with me?"

"No. I don't think I was to begin with."

_Then why in hell did you freak out and proceed to break up with and isolate yourself from me?_ "I want to be able to talk to you again."

She didn't respond to that. Harry felt that pair of watchful eyes keenly.

"So you and Burgar . . . you're together?"

"I have been on a date with Jonathan and allowed him to hold my hand," she said. "Does that count?"

"With you, it does."

"I suppose we are, then."

"I don't think he likes me."

"I think he knows you hold a much larger place in my heart than he does."

"You look good, Hermione. I don't want to get in his way. But we should partner up again next DL meeting, we were pretty unstoppable last time."

She smiled. "I'd like that."

"Well, I have to go get my essay and finish it up. I have a lot of other studies tonight."

If they were still as close as they'd been, he'd tell her that he was trying to track the location of the Elder Wand. In fact, if they were still that close, she'd have already known. She'd probably have gone to the Lovegood house with him. But here in the common room, with Burgar waiting for her, he couldn't do that.

"So, I'll see you around," he concluded.

"Yes, because we don't see each other around all the time," she retorted.

He chuckled. "Okay, that was lame. But I do have to get to work, and it looks like your boyfriend is getting a bit worried."

Hermione sniffed. "Let him worry. I don't answer to him. But if you have things to do, then go on. But promise me you'll get some sleep, Harry. You look—"

"Tired, and stressed out," he finished for her. "I know. Gee, wonder why?"

She gave him a disapproving look.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"Yes, I know," she murmured, as he went upstairs to retrieve his essay and join his roommates. "I believe in you." But she was troubled. Because she believed that he'd do anything it took to make himself into what he wanted to be. He'd push himself far beyond his limits to gain the knowledge and ability he craved, and he'd break himself for it. He wanted so much to find a way around this prophecy, yet still stand up to Voldemort, and she believed in him so much that she knew he'd do it. And when he came to the other side, he'd be a used-up shell of a person with nothing left to give and no one in his life to give it to after he pushed them all away to keep them safe.

Jonathan Burgar was polite and complimented her taste in clothing and lavished praise on her skill with runes. He was a perfectly good boyfriend. But if it was between the security of a polite boyfriend, and the heart-poundingly risky venture of saving her best friend from himself . . . She'd given herself time and space to think, lots of it. It was time to reassess that decision.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Harry had (just barely) been able to wheedle an advanced copy out of the paper before it ran. It was his only insurance, since he knew perfectly well that no amount of apology or explanation would put things right if he were taken out of context. He'd answered questions for the press before, and even gone through an excruciating formal interview when he'd first revealed his identity. It was different this time. The interviewer was a young rising star as the paper, and she'd been totally receptive to anything Harry had to say. He'd found himself saying much more than he intended, much more openly.

So, he had to make sure he could live with the result. His plan was to sabotage the printing tonight to keep it from getting out, if he was unhappy with it. They'd never agree to change it this late in the game, and they'd purposely given him the advance as late as they possibly could. The owl had arrived while he was working on the most difficult Potion he had ever brewed, and it had to sit there for nearly fifteen minutes until he arrived at a place in the process where he could take a break. He was already annoyed when he sat down and determined not to like what he read.

He settled down on his bed, and unconsciously held his breath for more than half the article.

* * *

_A Hero in the Making_

_By Gertrude Garnet_

_The young man in front of me runs his hands through his hair with an endearing nervous energy, seeming not to realise that the already messy black locks are now sticking out every which way. He looks uncomfortable and restless, even though patrons of Three Broomsticks normally love its cheerful and warm atmosphere._

_"Try to relax," I urge him. "I know I'm a reporter, but I don't bite. Promise."_

_He laughs, and seems to settle. "Sorry. You must be used to it, huh?"_

_Well, I am learning to be. He is no different from many people I've interviewed, with an anxiety that I will deliberately misquote or misrepresent him. I am the press, after all. But today of all days, I want things to be different. The two of us have come for the same thing. We're here to figure out the truth, even if it takes both of us._

_"I can forget I work for the newspaper if you can," I tell him with a smile._

_He relaxes even more, and with that heartbreaker of a smile on display, it's easy to understand the rumours of his popularity with the ladies. He has a reputation for being a charming and engaging boy. The more I talk to him, the more I think that it's a totally false conception. He's not a boy at all, despite his youth, and he's far too serious to be charming. With the weight of the world on his shoulders, how could he be anything less than a fully capable and mature wizard?_

_Well. Enough of my comments and interpretation. I am committed to giving the public exactly what it needs, exactly what this young man wants. From here on, I leave nothing out and add nothing superfluous. I asked the questions, he gave me the answers, and now I can present nothing more or less than the unedited words of Harry James Potter._

_GG: You've spoken to the press before, and I have no wish to waste our time together with repetitious questions about your plans to stop Voldemort, or anything of that nature. I'm here to get to know you, as a person. Sound good to you?_

_HP: Sounds quite frightening, doesn't it? Who wants the Chosen One to be a real person?_

_GG: You make a good point, Mr. Potter._

_HP: Oh, god, don't call me that. Just Harry._

_GG: Thank you, Harry. Well, to answer your question: me. I'm very interested in finding out just who our chosen hero is. Let me start by asking you a really loaded question: are you sorry you returned to Britain?_

_HP: Whoa, that is loaded. Well, I'm going to choose to interpret that as a question of how badly I miss the other places I've lived. The answer is, not terribly. England is where I was born, and where my family and heritage is. The other places I've been only seemed like home because Sirius—my godfather—was always with me._

_GG: You two seem exceptionally close. Would you say that your connection through your parents has brought that about?_

_HP: No, not really. Of course, that is what brought us together to begin with, but we stayed together because we love each other. Sirius has been raising me since I was eight years old. He gave up his entire life, several times over, just to stay with me. I want to say that I owe him for that, but we don't think of our relationship in terms of who owes what. He filled the need for a father in my life, and he's done an excellent job._

_GG: Some would say that going on the run and never letting you stay in one place for too long is bad parenting. What do you say?_

_HP: Wow, you really aren't going to ask the typical questions, are you? Not that I'm complaining, I'm quite tired of the political crap. Anyway, the answer is, we did what we had to do to stay safe. In that respect, Sirius did a better job than anyone could have asked. Not only that, but I was always very happy to go to a new place, and I sometimes got to pick the spot. I absolutely love travelling to new places and experiencing new cultures and types of people. I love learning new languages and customs and eating things I've never tasted before. Every time we went somewhere new, I learned a new way of thinking and was exposed to different styles of education. So wouldn't you say that Sirius gave me a great deal more than any traditional parent ever has?_

_GG: I'm not here to make any judgements at all, I'm just here to let you talk. I will say that your passion speaks volumes. If I had any doubts about the love and loyalty in your home, I've lost them. Since we are on the topic of your home, would you be willing to answer some questions about the rumours that Remus Lupin has distanced himself from you and your cause?_

_HP: No, I wouldn't._

_GG: Okay. Um, let's move on._

_HP: Wait, I do want to say one thing about that. You promise this will be printed exactly the way I say it? Never mind, I know you have editors and all that rot. I'll just say it anyway. Whatever anyone might hear about Remus Lupin, I want them to remember that he is one of the best men I know and totally deserving of the support of the magical community. I have heard the rumours that we kicked him out or that he became uncomfortable living with us because he has lycanthropy, and I want it to be known that it isn't true. I will always consider him a member of my family, and I am insulted that anyone thinks Sirius and I are such bigots._

_GG: Okay, thank you for clearing that up, Harry. I take it that you feel strongly about werewolf rights?_

_HP: Like I was hiding my opinions? I've been trying to get involved in some new legislation and I've been as loud as possible in my support of the changes that would allow werewolves to find work and homes among the rest of the wizarding population. There's not a lot that I would say Muggles do better than wizards, but the way they've improved the treatment of people with illnesses is one of them. I'm not trying to say anything nasty about wizards. I'm simply saying that we are very slow to adapt to change, and I'd like to see us speed up this process. Um, I'm sorry. I really went off on you, didn't I? I apologise._

_GG: Don't be sorry, Harry. We're here to have an open dialogue, and I'm glad to see you opening up about your personal feelings._

_HP: Oh. Well, what's next?_

_GG: I have a huge list of questions I could ask you, but . . ._

_HP: Did you just throw your notes away?_

_GG: I did. I'd much rather just let you talk. You seem to have a lot to say._

_HP: I guess I do. It's funny, because I didn't think I had that much I wanted to say today. I'm not used to reporters just listening to me, or asking me questions about this kind of stuff._

_GG: I hope it's a welcome change._

_HP: Yeah, this is great. Normally, it's all, do you think you can defeat You-Know-Who? [Editor's comment: Despite Ms. Garnet's adamant insistence that no editing be done to Mr. Potter's words, we felt it was in the best interests of our readers not to use the name Mr. Potter used for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ms. Garnet has reviewed this article and agrees that this has been our sole editorial change to the original text, though she wishes it to be made clear that she protests the change, as it speaks toward Mr. Potter's character that he uses this name.] Is your alliance to Dumbledore part of your political aspirations? Do you support such and such a candidate to replace Fudge? Do you plan to lead wizards in battle? There's so much that I obviously can't talk about if I want it to succeed, and I'm tired of begging off questions like that. Of course, now I'm worried you're going to start asking me about girlfriends or something._

_GG: Well, since you bring it up, Harry, why don't you tell me about that. Any special women in your life?_

_HP: I know a lot of special women. No, really, I don't have a girlfriend right now. As I'm sure you can appreciate, I've had other things on my mind. Honestly, I don't know if anyone could put up with me for very long. I barely find the time to sleep, and my friends tell me I'm a very boring conversationalist. All I ever talk about is what I'm studying._

_GG: You're quite a serious student, by all accounts._

_HP: I am, in a lot of ways. It's not really about school, exactly. I'm not interested in how many NEWTS I get or what grade I get on a term exam. My real concern is that I learn the most I possibly can from every book I read and every professor I study under. From every person I meet, really. I'm a student of everything. Does that make sense? Even when I'm just trying to relax, I'm still learning. It's always been really important to me to take something new away from every thing and every person I encounter._

_GG: Do you think that's just the way you are, or would you say there is a deeper reason for it?_

_HP: When I was younger, I thought I was going to be the greatest wizard of all time. I thought I was going to learn so much so quickly that I could laugh while I defeated enemies with one arm tied behind my back. Obviously, that wasn't very realistic, and I figured that out only too quickly. But even back then, I loved to learn. It's become so much a part of me that I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. I don't think I'll ever be considered the greatest wizard of all time, but if something I've learned helps someone or keeps something bad from happening, I'll know that I wasn't just wasting my time. I think I would be horrified if I got to the end of my life, and all the things I'd learned hadn't done any good. I want to make the world better. Really, what are any of us here for, if not that?_

_GG: That's a beautiful idea, Harry. But it sounds exhausting. I'll admit, I was never the top student in my class, but even a really bright student would have a hard time keeping up with you. How do you manage to achieve such results in the classroom while simultaneously shining on the Quidditch pitch?_

_HP: Because I love Quidditch! Probably as much as I love learning. I'm not much of a poet, and I think I'd have to be one to be able to describe what it's like. Playing, I mean, or even flying. The wind rushing past you, the thrill of adrenaline of the game while you revel in doing something you're good at, and that deeper knowledge that you're part of a team that is all experiencing the excitement with you . . . Um._

_GG: Sounds like you're more of a poet than you thought. Do you think participating in Quidditch eases some of the stress in the rest of your life?_

_HP: Not with Ron Weasley as my team captain! Just joking, Ron is great. But Quidditch is hard work just as much as it's fun. Now I'm just rambling. I think it does relieve a lot of stress, yeah. Doing something purely physical and just letting go for a while is nice._

_GG: One look at you and I can tell you're quite used to doing physical things. Does Ron ask everyone on the team to stay in such great shape?  
HP: Um, no. Well, we all stay in decent shape, you can't do the things we do on brooms if you're not, but I tend to go a little overboard. Why not, right? Everybody needs a hobby._

_GG: I've heard you're part of a group of students who meets regularly to practice dueling techniques. Do you think your physical strength is a factor in your achievements with that group?_

_HP: Definitely. Helps to be able to dodge, just in case. But that's only part of the story. There are so many different factors in a magical fight. I'm far from being the only one who can hold their own in the, um, club. Simple commitment and practice goes a long way, which is what Neville would tell you. He's our leader._

_GG: Would that be Neville Longbottom?_

_HP: Yeah._

_GG: Was this dueling club formed prior to your attendance at Hogwarts?_

_HP: Um, no. Actually, I started it. But I got too busy, and I wanted Neville to take over. He has a ton of knowledge and more dedication than the rest of us put together. He's a great guy._

_GG: So, no hard feelings between the two of you, then?_

_HP: Merlin, you would bring that up. No, Neville and I are friends. Why wouldn't we be? We're both on the same side, for the same reasons. Like I said, Neville was who I wanted to keep our club going after I couldn't do it anymore. He's pretty amazing._

_GG: I see I've touched a sore spot for you, Harry. Care to elaboratet?_

_HP: I just don't see the point in the public trying to decide between me and Neville. I don't think it makes a difference. Both of us are sixteen years old and too inexperienced to lead this fight. We're just two among many who think that what's going on in our world is wrong and needs to be stopped. We are part of something much greater than ourselves, something I hope would go on without either of us if we weren't here._

_GG: Do you really feel that it's wrong to have a symbol of hope, even with the world continually growing darker?  
HP: No, no, of course not. Hope and faith are really the only reasons to keep going. But put your hope in something meaningful, not in me. I'm only one person. We need to have faith, collectively, wizards I mean, that we are better than this. Faith that together we're going to make a better world. I can't do that for all of us. If people want to look up to me, that's fine, but . . . I would only want that if I can be a good example of what a fighter in this war looks like, not as some kind of hero who's going to save them. Because even if I wanted to, I can't do that. We're all going to save each other. That's what I believe. I'll do my part. I'm doing it right now. But you have a part, as well._

_GG: I really appreciate you sharing that, Harry. That's an amazing thought, that we could all save each other. I really can't wait to share this with my readers._

_HP: Yeah. I almost forgot that's what we were doing. I didn't feel like I was talking to a reporter at all. Are you sure you're from the paper?_

_GG: Yes, I really am. Believe it or not, Harry, I think the world ought to hear what you have to say. Not only that, but exactly as you said it. If we're going to put you up on a pedestal, I think we owe it to you._

_HP: I didn't think of it that way. You're a really good listener, you know? I could get used to this. Hey, you get the exclusive interview when I lead England to win the Quidditch World Cup, okay?_

_GG: Oh, I'm going to remember that. I know how valuable your time is, and I can't thank you enough for allowing me this interview._

_HP: Honestly, Ms. Garnet, it was no trouble at all. This was really not what I was expecting._

_GG: So you learned something new. I guess you've met your real goal, then._

_HP: She's funny, too. I still find it hard to believe that you're going to print this. People are actually going to know what I believe. I was beginning to think they never would._

_GG: Have a little faith, Harry._

_I mean it as a parting joke, but the extraordinary green eyes begin to fill with tears. I can see that the things he's been discussing with such conviction and passion are beginning to overwhelm him. We exchange a few more words, and I know that he is trying very hard to hold his emotions together. He's been let down too many times, and I can hardly express how amazing it feels to be the one with the opportunity to correct that._

_He tries to thank me, but I don't need any thanks. The privilege was all mine._

_Besides, he promised me an exclusive interview when he becomes a Quidditch star. Don't think I won't hold you to it, Harry Potter._

* * *

Harry clutched the copy in his hands so tightly that the pages began to wrinkle. He couldn't believe it. It was actually going to print, and they weren't going to edit out anything they didn't like. He'd liked Ms. Garnet from the moment she'd shaken his hand, simply because she didn't fawn over him. He only grew to like her more the further they got into the interview. It had never started to feel like an interview, more like a conversation between friends.

She hadn't asked him about Voldemort, or Dumbledore, or if thoughts of his dead parents were guiding him. Not one stupid question. She'd just let him talk. It was unbelievable. And as a result, this was the first time since he and Sirius had come out in public that he wasn't dreading opening up the morning paper.

He had to get Ms. Garnet something really nice. Maybe a potted plant.

Speaking of plants . . . he needed sleep, but he had to get back to brewing. This was too important to be anything less than perfect.

* * *

Breakfast. The Great Hall. The release of the morning paper.

It was only two or three minutes before the sleepy mumbles erupted into a steady buzz of conversation. Harry looked up at the staff table and he and Sirius beamed at each other with pride. Dumbledore seemed too careworn and distracted to share in their happiness, and Professor Snape was sneering at the paper with a disdain that was half-show and half-sincere.

Harry wanted to look down the table to where Hermione sat, but Jonny was there with his head practically laid on her shoulder, reading the article with her, so Harry turned away. Ron, sitting beside him, became very quiet, but Ginny was there to pound his shoulders and tell him what a great job he'd done.

"I didn't actually do anything," he answered.

She plopped down next to him and stole a piece of toast off his plate. "You're doing it right now," she said, crunching into it and speaking without concern for the fact that her mouth was full. "All the stuff that you were talking about in that interview."

"So, if I'm hearing you right, you're congratulating me for having opinions?"

Ginny scowled at him. "Get over yourself, Great One, I can tell how pleased you are."

"How can I be pleased? You've stolen my toast!"

"Your coffee, too," she smirked, picking up the cup and taking a leisurely sip.

"Hey, that's my coffee! _And_ you called me Seamus' stupid name."

"Is she looking over here yet?" Ginny asked in a very quiet voice.

"What? Who?"

"Who?" Ginny mocked. "Hermione, of course. No, don't look right at her like that. You can't be obvious about it when you're trying to make someone jealous."

"I didn't know I was," he said in bewilderment.

She pushed his coffee into his hands. "You're hopeless, Harry, but it's all right, I'm on your side. You two were so perfect together, and Jonny Burgar's got his head up his own arse." She stood up again. "Don't worry, she was looking. But I meant it, Harry, congratulations. I think the interview is brilliant."

She sauntered away, and Harry turned to Ron to see that he looked just as confused as Harry felt.

"Girls, mate," Ron said with a helpless shrug. "But she's right, Hermione was looking. And the interview is . . . really good."

"It is, isn't it?" Harry said happily, catching the nods of encouragement coming from all around him.

He risked a glance at the Slytherin table, to see if the entire tables was matching their expression to Snape. He saw the four prefects all gathered around, making disgusted faces in Harry's direction and speaking what were obviously detrimental remarks. But in the midst of it, Draco stood up, slowly laid his copy of the paper down on the table (seeming not to care that it landed in his breakfast) and left the room without a word to anyone. Served the bastard right if it upset him, didn't it? He'd made his choices.

When Harry and Ron and Dean left the table, Luna was also leaving hers. She "accidentally" crossed paths with him just outside the door. Trading smirks, the other two boys left Harry with her.

"Daddy wanted me to tell you how much he enjoyed your last conversation," Luna said, seeming just as oblivious as ever. Harry knew for a fact she'd noticed what passed between his roommates, and she might even have mysteriously divined what it was he'd been talking to her father about. "He says he has some more information, if you can find the time to come over. He'd also like to get a quote from you on the conspiracy among Quidditch League coaches to overthrow the Muggle Prime Minister."

Harry worked very hard to keep a straight face. "I'd like to meet with him again soon, although I don't know enough about the Quidditch conspiracy to offer a reliable quote. Thanks, Luna."

"You're quite welcome, Harry."

"Say, Luna? Do you have a minute so I can ask you something?"

"Well, Harry, I do have a minute, but that seems like quite a long question."

"I meant did you have time to answer once I ask."

"You are certain that the answer will only take a minute?"

"Well, no. I was just hoping that you did have time to answer."

"I don't know. Perhaps you should ask the question, then I can decide if I have the time."

Harry was simultaneously exasperated and delighted. It was utterly impossible to be bored around this girl—or even slightly comfortable, either. It made for one wild shag, but he couldn't picture himself doing it again. He would really need to find a different way to word that, if he ever got the chance to tell Hermione.

"Okay. The question is, do you know of any powerful object associated with Ravenclaw House? I've heard it said that Helga Hufflepuff had a special cup, and I wondered if Rowena had something like that."

Luna frowned in thought. "I believe I have time to answer. I believe there is an object like that. It is lost now, but she had a diadem that granted wisdom to the one who wore it. My father actually knows quite a bit about it. He's been talking about trying to remake it."

"So the original version has been destroyed?"

"No, not destroyed. Just lost."

"When was it lost?"

"Oh, quite a long time ago, actually."

"I see. Thank you, Luna. That's very helpful."

"I'm glad, Harry. Will you be at the DL meeting on Wednesday?"

"I think I will. See you then. Have a nice day, Luna."

Harry walked away with a grin. He couldn't wait to ask Dumbledore if he knew anything about the diadem. They'd been trying and trying to think of an object that Voldemort might have used for a Horcrux, and Dumbledore had said he would ask Professor Flitwick the same question Harry had just asked Luna. They were getting close to identifying all the objects Voldemort had used. Then it would just be a matter of tracking them down. The diary, of course, was already destroyed, as was the ring (_at what price?_). Harry was starting to feel like they were actually getting somewhere.

* * *

He met Harry a full mile from the place they lived. No one could Apparate directly into their community without getting hurt, and the perimeter was so carefully guarded that for an unknown wizard to approach would probably also lead to violence. He would escort Harry in to ensure his safety.

Harry arrived in exactly the place they were supposed to meet, recognizing immediately the scrape in the bark of the large tree that had been left as a marker. He shuffled his feet and wondered if he oughtn't brave the perimeter guard. The volatile potion couldn't really wait.

Just as he decided to set out, footsteps sounded and he sighed with impatience. He waited.

Remus strode into the small clearing only moments later. Harry noted that he looked a little more ragged than usual, but he was so tired of hearing about his own decline in appearance that he decided not to bring it up.

"Where's Sirius?"

"At school."

"He didn't even wait around to say hello?"

"He didn't come, he had to give someone a detention."

Remus stopped and glared at Harry. "You are not old enough to Apparate."

Harry shrugged. "And when exactly do you suppose I'm going to get the letter from the Ministry of Magic telling me so? Fudge is too desperate for my favour to start giving me grief."

Remus continued to glare.

"What? If they insist on giving me special treatment, I'm going to take advantage of it. I'm perfectly capable of Apparation, and it just might save my life at some point."

Remus groused but couldn't really argue that point. He just liked to play the hard case because he thought Sirius treated Harry too much like an adult.

"It's good to see you," Harry ventured.

Remus finally broke and smiled at him. "You, too, Harry. Come on. Come and meet everyone."

Harry followed Remus, trying to remain cautious, but too hopeful to really feel it. He was careful to keep the cauldron level as he levitated it along with them. The little plume of smoke that rose from it trailed out behind them like a banner.

"They do know I'm coming, right?"

Remus' eyes were darting everywhere at once, but he nodded in answer. "I didn't tell them who you are, but they know someone is coming."

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"They don't trust anyone, especially not anyone who gets his photo in the paper. I will say that they're speaking more kindly about you since the interview came out yesterday. But they've a long way to go. You distance yourself from the establishment that let them down, but that doesn't mean they're sold on you yet."

"That's fair." But Harry said it with a sinking heart. He was putting in a lot of effort on behalf of werewolves. He was going to watch one of his allies on the Wizengamot present a proposal next week, and possibly even be invited to speak since he'd helped draft the proposal. "What about Tonks?"

"I haven't even been able to bring it up since that first time. They absolutely won't believe it's possible for me to have a girlfriend who is a normal witch. There are ten men, including me, and only six women, yet they are still reserving Franka for me. At least I haven't found her naked in my bed yet, which is what she was threatening to do."

"So, still not grasping the concept of integration with wizards?"

"No, not really. But the new people came to me, not Greyback, so it's a start. You have to understand that we are looking at hundreds of years of completely legal oppression, compared to a few months of open dialogue spearheaded by a sixteen-year-old and a witch with purple hair."

"And Dumbledore. And Madam Bones."

"Bones?"

"You know, woman I've been working with on all this new legislation? Only person I really like in the Ministry that's not an Auror?"

"She does seem like a good sort. But I can say that, because I've met enough kind wizards to know the difference. The rest of them really haven't. They do have a lot of respect for Dumbledore, for the most part. But what's he been able to do? He couldn't protect even me, and I've been connected to him most of my life."

Harry had almost completely stopped walking by now. It was impossible that Remus had missed it, but he continued to move, his eyes roaming the trees and obviously listening to things Harry wasn't. Not that Harry wasn't keeping a sharp eye out, himself. It was just a little weird to watch Remus do it.

"There's not really any point to me being here, is there? What I'm doing is basically worthless to them."

Remus finally stopped, turned to Harry, and stilled himself to meet his eyes. "Don't think like that. It might not seem like much, compared to what we're up against, but it's an act of good faith. You are doing something tangible to show them how much you're willing to involve yourself, and they're going to respect you for it. Up till now, it's only been words. Now you're here."

"Assuming my name doesn't get me turned away at the gate," Harry muttered, concentrating on keeping the cauldron of smoking potion steady.

And then they were at the proverbial gate. There actually was a fence around their community, made of logs set on end in the earth and shaved into points at the top, and there was indeed a gate in the middle, which was currently being guarded by two lean, sharp-looking men.

"I'm awfully glad to have those two. Shocked I didn't lose them to Greyback, honestly, but they've been invaluable keeping him out."

Harry noted the fresh look of the dirt around the fence and figured it was a recent addition because of the threat of Greyback's small band.

"Remus, you wait right there," the taller of the two guards called out. "We said we'd meet him, not choke down his amateur potions experiments."

"Don't be such a crotchety bastard, Neil," came the rejoinder. "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"You don't mean this _kid_ is where you've been getting the potion from?"

"That's exactly what I mean, Neil, so cram it."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the exchange until Remus was standing in front of Neil and Neil broke out in a huge grin and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Glad you didn't get ambushed out there, boss."

The other guy was frowning. "Lupin."

"What is it, Yorick?"

"Is the kid who I think he is?"

Harry stepped forward and stuck out his free hand. "Probably. Pleased to meet you."

The man looked at his outstretched hand and then to Remus.

Remus just sighed. "He's already here, Yorick. Just let him in."

Neil stepped aside, pushing the gate open, which earned him quite the dirty look from Yorick, but Remus ushered Harry through without the slightest pause.

"Thank you, gentleman," he said with authority, then they were inside.

Harry looked around. It was a really nice place, truth be told. It looked homey, and comfortable, even if it was a little isolated and small. A half-circle of wooden cabins all faced the gate, very close at hand, and the entire enclosed area between the cabins and the fence was devoted to a huge garden plot. Harry could see several members of Remus' community at work back there, but Remus first led Harry to the furthest cabin on the right.

"This one is mine. Not just mine, of course, we all are sharing with at least one person. I share with Simon, the only child we have here."

Harry followed Remus and finally let his cauldron settle with a little _thunk_ on the wooden plank floor just inside. The entire cabin consisted of a tiny living/dining/kitchen area, a bedroom, and a closet of a bathroom. A blond boy that was just barely into his teens, if even that, was sprawled in one of the two chairs in the room, a book open in his lap.

"Hey, Simon. That guy I told you about is here."

"Harry Potter," Harry said, putting out his hand but not expecting much after Yorick. "Nice to meet you."

Simon gave him a sullen look. "Yeah." He went back to his book.

Remus gave him a quick peek at the bedroom, which was as tidy and Spartan as Harry expected, then led him back out to the front room.

"That's it, I'm afraid. We're very simple here."

Harry smiled. "Didn't you start out pretty much sleeping on the ground?"

Remus smiled back. "I guess we have come a long way."

"Would you two shut up?" Simon snapped. "I'm _trying_ to _study_."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the rude boy, but only got a look of barely suppressed rage in return. He shrugged and preceded Remus outside.

"Sorry about Simon. Actually, I'm sort of glad that he's following the lesson plan I made for him, but sorry about the attitude. He's had a rough couple of years and he hasn't really caught up with it yet."

"Since he's living with you, I'm assuming his parents don't want him around?"

Remus shook his head. "Worse than that. I only just got the full story out of him a few weeks ago, and it's made it a lot easier to have patience with him. For one thing, he was raised almost completely Muggle. I guess his father was a pureblood, but his mother was a Muggle and she wanted to stay near her family and friends, so his father decided to live as a Muggle with her, and Simon was raised that way. He's a wizard, and he was supposed to go to Hogwarts. Three days before his first term, his mother died in an accident, and it was decided that he would stay home with his father that year and begin school the next year. But that following summer, he was bitten and his father was killed trying to protect him. He didn't have anywhere to go, so he went to the man who'd bitten him."

"Greyback," Harry guessed.

"Of course. This was last summer, by the way. He hasn't been a werewolf even a full year yet."

"So he's, what, twelve?"

"Yes. Thirteen in about a month, I think. He's actually a good kid, but he misses his family terribly and he's very lost."

"At least he's got you," Harry said.

"I pride myself that I am somewhat better than Fenrir Greyback, but I am not about to claim I can do anything for Simon. Except give him a place to sleep, of course. No one else wanted to share a cabin with him. I was only too happy to do so, since it meant only one housemate instead of two."

"I'm guessing the other option was that bird Franka."

"I guessed the same thing. Hence, Simon. I shouldn't say that, the two of us get along well most of the time. I'm almost starting to think I make a difference."

Harry looked around. Four men and four women were tending and collecting from the garden, which seemed to range from vegetables to herbs to potions supplies. The cabins were neatly arranged and tidily constructed. Simon was in there studying a book the third-years at Hogwarts were reading.

"Three of the men and two of the women currently have jobs, which is helping support us. Can't live on carrots, obviously. Everyone tends to fear the day those jobs will end, but I've got them channeling that fear into all those anonymous letters to the editor that have been appearing recently. Seems to have sparked sympathy."

Making a difference, indeed. Harry knew from listening to Professor Snape that Greyback's group spent a lot of their time living like animals and hurting people for favours from Voldemort.

Harry took a further look at the little compound, and found himself troubled. There were deep scratches marring almost every bit of fence—on the inside. The tidy little cabins had strong, sturdy doors with heavy latches, and even still he could see where doors that had been beaten off the frame had been repaired. He should have come sooner. They needed this badly.

"Remus, that potion isn't exactly shelf-stable. You need to get them over here so they can meet me and we can get on with it."

Remus nodded and called everyone over, even telling Neil and Yorick to take minutes off. The two men dropped a heavy bar over the gate before they joined the others in the little cup formed by the fronts of the ring of cabins.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet my friend Harry," Remus said when everyone was accounted for—even Simon, who stood with his arms crossed leaning against the doorjamb of his cabin. "As I was telling you before, he has brewed Wolfsbane potion for the entire community, and he's here to deliver the first treatment to us."

Harry indicated the cauldron that he'd brought outside, hoping he looked like a pleasant character. He'd even tucked his shirt in today.

No one looked exactly happy, but only one woman spoke up. She was a leggy woman with long hair and enough maturity in her face to indicate at least mid-thirties. She had to be Franka. Harry had no doubt.

"You are Harry Potter, then. What are you hoping to prove by this?"

Harry bowed a little in her direction. "Nothing. I did this because I've been talking to Remus and I was upset by the situation you are in. He said only two of you have had access to the potion before?"

Neil was nodding enthusiastically, so that was one. The other was a woman of distinctly Italian appearance, who looked sad.

"As I've come to find out," he said with a little chuckle, "this treatment is a pain in the neck to make. I can see why they charge so much for it. But it's ridiculous to me that the very people it's intended for can't afford it or don't know where to find it. I mean, if _I_ was brilliant enough to invent something like this, I'd be passing out free samples on the street corners. I'm not, but I'm good enough at Potions work to make the stuff, and I do like a challenge. What else would I do with it but give it to the people who can use it?"

"You expect us to believe that you brewed this up for fun and then just felt bad about throwing it away?" Yorick asked in disbelief.

Harry shrugged, looking at Remus. Remus shrugged back.

"Yes, Harry, it is that weird. Sorry, folks, I should have mentioned that my friend Harry is just not very normal. He thinks things like Potions experiments are fun. He also spends a lot of time at the Ministry trying to get help for us. It's like I've been telling you all along: not all wizards are prejudiced. What you've got in front of you is one of the least prejudiced people I know."

Simon made a scoffing noise from back at the cabin.

Harry bristled at that. "You know, I didn't come here acting all self-righteous about being enlightened or anything. I came here because I actually care. If you don't want it, then don't take it. But don't you dare go on saying people just ignore your plight and do nothing to help you. If you won't take friendship from me because I'm just a wizard, then you deserve what your pride gets you."

He started to leave, and took the cauldron with him. Yorick tried to get in his face, but Remus made a weird snarling noise and the other man stepped back.

"Wait," the woman who looked Italian said in distress. "Please. At least leave some for Simon. He's only a boy, it's so hard for him."

"Oh, please, Addison," Simon moaned. "Don't try to do that mothering thing again." He gave Harry a defiant look to prove that he absolutely didn't need anything from Harry. But knowing his story gave Harry the ability to see the misery and loss behind the gesture. In fact, it wasn't hard to see it from Yorick or from anyone else in the group, either.

He stopped, letting the cauldron come to rest again. "But if you do want it, you should know that I don't want anything from you in return. I'm giving it to you because I care. That's all. If you don't want me here, I won't come back. You can send someone to pick up the next treatment."

"Why are you _really _doing this, Harry Potter?" murmured the woman with smoky eyes, the one he was certain was Franka.

Remus let out a sigh of exasperation. "Not everyone has hidden motives, Franka. Listen, I'm going to take Harry back, and when I return, we're going to take this. All of us."

Yorick sneered at him, and Simon declared that no one could make him do anything.

Remus growled low in his throat. "Have I led you wrong yet? Have you allowed me to take that place in your lives, or haven't you?"

No one answered.

"I do not give commands often. This is one of the few I will give you. Everyone will do this once. You can make your own decision after that."

And with that, he firmly led Harry outside the fence. He gave Harry a tired smile on the other side. "For some reason, speaking strongly and walking away seems to work. They don't get the chance to argue. Anyway, I'm glad you came. Thankful. Very thankful. I know that once they try this, they're going to see that it's better. This will make more progress with them then I've been able to all this time. They'll finally see that being a werewolf doesn't have to mean that you're not human."

Harry impulsively reached out and hugged Remus, who jerked back in surprise.

"Seems like you're forgetting a few things, yourself," Harry said. "Don't forget that you've got a family back in the real world."

Remus nodded slowly. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

"I got here without help, you know."

"They don't need to know that. Besides, I haven't seen Sirius in close to a month, and you're right about the family thing."

Remus only stayed for about ten minutes, but Sirius whistled Weird Sisters tunes for the rest of the day. He commented once that he wished Tonks would have known Remus was coming, but Harry kind of thought that only having ten minutes might be more heartbreaking than not seeing him at all.

* * *

Two nights after the full moon, Remus brought Dora to the community. After their experience as werewolves with a rational mind, his people suddenly seemed to relax. Remus felt that the abrupt shift in attitude was because they felt less ashamed of themselves and what they were. Whatever it was, Neil expressed an interest in meeting the girl that gave Remus the ability to hold Franka at arm's length. The rest of the community, especially Addison, seemed to agree. Addison was a mother to them all, and she was anxious to see Remus paired off with someone.

Dora pursed her lips at the tall fence, the same way she had when she saw the awful abrasions on Remus' face. Greyback's wolves had attacked but hadn't been able to get past the fence. Unfortunately, Neil and Yorick and Jeremy had thought it was a good idea to go out and chase them off, thinking that with their calmer minds, they'd have the advantage. Remus had been obliged to go out and help, and Jeremy was still recovering from his injuries.

They all met in front of the cabins again. Dora shook hands with each of them in turn, making a point to meet their eyes and repeat their names. Remus' arm never lost its grip on her waist. He hadn't seen her in so long, and she looked so good that it was driving him crazy. It was all he could do to restrain himself as far as putting an arm around her waist instead of shoving her into his cabin and . . . well . . . he really hoped he wasn't blushing as badly as he thought he was.

Simon hadn't come out to meet her. Remus wasn't about to let that stand, so after she'd made small talk with Addison and Neil for a few minutes (coolly ignoring Franka's jealous glares) Remus took her to his cabin.

"It's not much," he cautioned her.

"It's cute," she replied, brushing her hand over his arm and making him nearly howl with longing.

"Dora, I know I told you about Simon, but you should know. He's not doing well. I don't know why, but he hasn't spoken to anyone, not even me, since the full moon."

"I can handle teenagers with attitude," she replied. "I have years of experience."

"Of being the problem," he snorted.

Inside, Simon was lounging in a chair staring at the ceiling, not even pretending to have been absorbed in studying. He looked up when they came in. Remus could tell that he'd meant to give Dora a disgusted look and return to ignoring her, but he didn't. He just looked. Remus had to admit she was not the most normal of witches. She said she'd been undercover today, and she hadn't bothered to change out of her Muggle clothes with highly unnecessary zippers, and her hair was black with a thick orange stripe. He was certain she'd meant to shock his community into seeing her for who she was right away. But all he could think about was how closely the shirt fit her, even if it was hidden under a jacket, and how frustratingly long it would take to get her out of those thick boots.

And how brave she was. To come here, and just be herself. She was one of the most courageous people he knew, being the first Auror to declare her belief that Voldemort had returned, and having that complete inability to hide what she was thinking because she didn't care if anyone judged her for it. And frighteningly smart, when she wanted to be. Merlin, how he'd missed her.

"Simon, this is Dora. She's my . . ." He really didn't know how to describe her. Girlfriend was such a bland word, but they had never spoken any other commitment.

"His," Dora shrugged. "That works for me. But don't call me Dora, only he calls me Dora. My friends call me Tonks."

Simon glared at her.

Then she giggled. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Cloud?"

Instantly, Simon lit up with a sort of stunned joy. "Like Cloud? You really think so?"

After two days, that was what he had to say?

"You think he looks like a cloud?" Remus asked in confusion.

Simon and Dora both rolled their eyes toward him. "It's a character from a video game, darling," she answered. "You wouldn't understand. Cloud has got that spiky blond hair that hasn't been combed in months and he wears pants that are way too big for him, just like Simon does."

Simon reverted back to glaring at her, but Dora winked at him, and he ended up smiling.

Moments later, Dora and Simon were chatting like old friends and Remus just sat and watched them. He knew she was amazing, but sometimes she'd come out with something new and dazzle him yet again. Moody, unresponsive Simon was grinning and gesturing and looking like she was his long-lost best friend. Remus should have realised what was wrong. Raised as a Muggle, he was missing more than simply his parents, he was missing an entire lifestyle. And being able to keep his mind through his transformation two nights ago had probably just made him feel even more strongly that this life wasn't something he wanted or was suited for. Feeling safe as a werewolf, he'd probably started thinking it wouldn't be so hard to go back to his old life . . . except that there was no longer anything to go back to.

But maybe, Dora could give him a little bit back. She had started out as an Auror doing undercover work catching Muggle baiters, and she knew a lot of things about what Muggle teenagers were interested in. Maybe Simon rejected Addison because she tried too hard to replace his mother, but he could connect to Dora because she was an addition rather than a replacement.

Everyone was amazed by the way Simon responded to her. Neil declared that he was in love and was going to steal her away from Remus. Franka began to place herself next to Yorick all the time, and Yorick turned out to be Dora's biggest fan. Well, after Jeremy, because Dora had manipulated some medical supplies from work and healed him.

They didn't mind if Dora stayed the night, after that. Simon would go sleep in Jeremy and Addison's cabin, and no one complained so long as she took her turn patrolling the fence. Remus certainly didn't.

* * *

Harry lay down to sleep in the very wee hours of the morning. He would get about three hours of sleep before classes tomorrow, but he hardly cared. He was getting closer. He added Xeno Lovegood to the list of people to whom he owed a potted plant. The man was completely cracked, true, but he knew so much about the Hallows. After their last conversation, they both agreed that Grindelwald had actually used the Elder Wand at some point during his reign of terror.

Which meant something that Harry was almost afraid to know. But he couldn't shake it. What it meant was that Dumbledore knew of it. It had been seen in his lifetime. He had known the man who held was entirely possible that he knew where the thing was. Harry, laying quietly in bed, had a hard time catching his breath at the thought. He didn't know how to bring it up. How could he ask Dumbledore such a question?

The problem was, there was very little time to waste. Dumbledore didn't look good. He looked old. Harry was beginning to think it wasn't going to be long now before it became obvious to everyone else that the headmaster was failing. He wondered if Neville knew. Neville had to know, had to see it. But what had Dumbledore told him?

Harry rolled over and punched his pillow, frustrated. At this rate, he wouldn't get any sleep at all before his classes. He'd gotten pretty good at stilling the million things that clamored for attention in his mind, during the moments he was able to snatch a bit of sleep. But tonight, thoughts of death and of reaching his goal were spinning by him so that he almost reached up to touch them. His heart was beating too fast and his eyes were darting around the room looking for a distraction.

He gave up and did something he didn't want to do. He didn't want to do it because he was afraid it would become a habit only too quickly. He took a sleeping potion. It was a bad idea for many reasons, not least of which was because he had Potions first thing in the morning and he would really hate explaining that he was absent because he'd overslept. But he took it anyway. Because there was a reason people kept saying he looked exhausted and anxious. He _was_ exhausted and anxious. He wasn't about to waste three hours more on it.

Which was why, when his mind was invaded, Harry couldn't wake up.

* * *

_"You think I have forgotten you, Harry?"_

_The silken voice makes him stir. He knows, somehow, that this is a dream and that he should not allow this, but he cannot take control of his mind and rouse it. A figure appears in the darkness, as if walking down a tunnel._

_"No, I didn't think so."_

_"I have been busy, you see. There are so many people who resist me, and I simply haven't had time for you yet. But never think I will not get to you. You are not safe, Harry. In your arrogance, you have begun to assume you are."_

_"No, I haven't."_

_"Do not lie to me, boy. I can see into your mind, and I see your arrogance, your belief that I cannot touch you."_

_He thinks about Kimberly Kearney, the fierce little warrior who always looked at him to see if she was doing it right, except the only look he remembered was the one she'd worn when she found out her father was dead. He doesn't count his personal safety as an assurance that he was untouchable, not at all. But he didn't tell Voldemort that. Voldemort wouldn't understand it, anyway._

_"I can take you anytime you like, Voldemort," he says._

_He throws up his mental blocks in a panic, using so much force and speed that it is obvious what he is doing. But behind those barriers, his mind is racing. He can't wake up like he wants to. He didn't want to get sucked into a conversation with Voldemort, he left his defenses open so that _he_ could get into _Voldemort's_ head! But he can't escape, and so he has to do something to protect himself, to protect Dumbledore, to protect their mission. It is easy, really. Voldemort still thinks he was a stupid, belligerent child. He can play that role._

_"Take me?" Voldemort chuckles. "I hope you do not mean that you can best me. That would be foolish of you, and I do so hate foolish opponents."_

_"I can," he says. "I consider having a whole face my best advantage."_

_Voldemort sneers at that, seems to be coming up with a good counter, but then changes his mind._

_"Then go ahead," he says, sweeping his arms out in invitation. "Come get me, Harry. I welcome the challenge."_

_That would be stupid. There is some trap here, some hideous mental trap. If he touches this Voldemort-in-the-dark-tunnel figure, he will never wake up. Or he will wake up with someone else in control. No matter the outcome, it will not be in his favour._

_"I don't need to do it now. I'd rather do it in person," he says lightly. "So much more satisfying that way, don't you think? I haven't spent five years training myself to beat you just to deny myself the opportunity to hit you in your ugly face."_

_Voldemort snarls in outrage, but it seems obvious to him that he has the upper hand. "So, you are trying to become a great wizard, Harry? Borrowing on what your betters have done and thinking that your youthful body will be enough? You really are foolish. Why do you hide in Hogwarts, if you think you can best me? Why not come out and face me, Harry?"_

_"I'm not that dumb!" he protests. "Like I'm going to leave the protection of the castle when I don't know how to kill you yet? I'm staying here until I find the perfect way to kill you."_

_Voldemort throws his head back and laughs. "Impossible! How many times must I tell you? I cannot die! You stay in Hogwarts, Harry, do that. Comfort yourself with the idea that someday you will defeat me, if it helps. Meanwhile, I will destroy everything you love and make the world as I desire. No one can oppose me. Certainly not that addled old man and you, his pet."_

_He allows himself to become upset and tries to make himself seem red-faced with embarrassment and outrage. He's not sure he has a physical body for Voldemort to look at, but it hardly matters, with the dark wizard in his mind to get it directly from the source._

_"Just you wait, snake-face! You'll get what's coming to you! You're evil!"_

_Voldemort laughs and beckons yet again for an attack. Instead, he adopts an attitude of retreating, spitting curses and meaningless rhetoric as he goes. Voldemort seems to give up on the idea of luring him forward, and begins to fade. He can feel his mind becoming more alert, somewhere in its conscious part, and the retreat becomes rapid._

_"I'll get you if Dumbledore doesn't!" he shouts to the tiny figure. This is the last thing he is able to say._

"Harry, wake up, for the love of Morgana!"

Harry shrinks from the sensation of cold and cracks an eyelid. Neville is there, yanking his sheets away from him. He moans. His scar is throbbing with a pain he hasn't felt in a long time, but he clenches his hands into his pillow to keep himself from touching it. He doesn't want anyone to know.

All he can do now is trust that Professor Snape will give Voldemort the proper picture of Harry, as a coward and as an immature puppet of Dumbledore's. Without Snape's cooperation, that whole conversation will become too obviously an act. Speaking of which, he'd better get out of bed and to Snape's class on time, if he wanted any help from the man. He'd obviously missed his morning run, which meant he would have to take it tonight and disrupt his study routine.

He tried to get up to get his uniform, and fell on the floor instead. Surprised, he just lay there for a moment, feeling his cheek pressing into the carpet. He tried to convince himself he'd tripped, but he hadn't. He'd just . . . fallen over. How weird.

"Harry? Harry, mate, what's wrong?"

"Not sure," he answered. He didn't know which one of his roommates was doing the asking, which worried him. "I just fell down, I think. Move."

The person kneeling beside him turned out to be Ron, and he moved to allow Harry room to get up. He moved in to take Harry's arm and help him up, but Harry waved him away.

"That was weird," he commented, going to where his uniform was hung up. "I must have gotten out of bed too fast or something. I felt woozy for a second, then wham! I'm on the floor."

"Harry, maybe you—"

Ron didn't finish the thought, because when Harry bent over to pull up his trousers, he fell again. This time, he couldn't stop his fingers from massaging his aching scar as he lay there and tried to figure out what was going on. Why did he keep falling down?

"Are you sick?" Neville asked him.

Harry thought about that for a few seconds. "Yes," he said cautiously. "I think I must be. But I can't afford to miss class. I'll have to go see Pomfrey during lunch."

He found his feet again, but he decided to sit on the bed while he dressed. He saw his roommates exchanging worried looks, but he ignored them as much as he ignored his weirdly woozy head and the pain from his scar. This was the last thing he could deal with right now. There was too much to do to be laid up with some bug!

He held himself together all the way to the common room, where he fell again trying to get out of the portrait hole. At that point, his friends gave up on trying to speak to him, and simply grabbed hold of him and dragged him to the infirmary.

"Exhaustion," Madam Pomfrey declared with barely a glance at him. "Put him down on the bed there and let him sleep."

"Are you sure?" Ron inquired.

"Quite sure, Mr. Weasley. He will probably sleep the rest of the day and night. If he is better tomorrow, I will send someone to tell you. I would like him to be escorted back to his dormitory after I release him."

His roommates nodded gravely, and Harry scowled at them and their worried looks. Exhaustion, honestly. He couldn't be here because he was _tired_, it was ludicrous. He was, however, worried about getting up again, since he thought he had developed rather a pattern of falling down.

He did refuse any sleep aids, though. And he very carefully and deliberately reconstructed his mental blocks, and asked for a sheet of paper to send a note to Snape, then thought better of committing such things to paper and asked if Pomfrey would get his godfather. Sirius would want to know what had happened, and he'd make sure Professor Snape was told as well. Pomfrey wanted to refuse, but Harry became so agitated that she agreed.

By the time Sirius got there, Harry was drifting in and out of sleep again, despite his determination to keep it together until he talked to Sirius. Sirius squeezed his hand and told him very fondly and quietly that he was an idiot. Harry was beginning to suspect that he was, but he was too tired to deal with it at that point, so he simply made sure Sirius understood what was going on, and fell asleep with his hand still clutching at his godfather's.

Pomfrey didn't release him until midafternoon the next day. Harry didn't sleep, despite her dire predictions that he would be back here within a few days in he didn't. He spent the late morning and early afternoon feverishly completing the schoolwork he was currently missing out on. Then he pacified her by taking a short nap and bouncing out of bed with bright eyes and cheerful demeanor, and she agreed to let him go.

He was still tired, but two days off was more than he could afford. He had things to do, he'd missed Quidditch practice, and he needed to talk to Dumbledore about what had happened.

* * *

Harry took a circuitous route back to Gryffindor Tower, trying to avoid most of the students who were still finishing up the day's classes. He thought he would change clothes before delivering his homework to his teachers and going to see Dumbledore. He would need to get back to studying tonight, but after so much sleep, it shouldn't be a problem to stay up late.

Despite his hurry, he stopped when he heard something odd. Crying in a girls' bathroom wasn't that strange, but it was in this one. For a girl to be crying in this totally abandoned lavatory meant she was really alone and more than commonly upset. It would be a nice thing to do to check on her. Except . . . it didn't really sound like a girl.

Harry decided that it couldn't hurt to at least peek in the door and see if the girl needed help. He was so surprised by the sight that he didn't move.

Draco Malfoy was leaning over the sink, washing his face despite the fact that he was still crying a bit. His hands were shaking, and he stopped washing to look up at himself in the mirror. He took on a disgusted expression.

He looked like a wraith. He'd gone from pale to ashen at some point, and his bones had become more prominent, so that the dim light from the murky windows caused shadows to stretch over his face. Harry hadn't noticed it happening, but it must have taken months to make him look so skinny and haunted. His reddened eyes didn't help. Harry had known that Draco's life had taken a distinctly different turn this year, but he hadn't really paid that much attention. Draco had sort of ceased to be his problem.

"I don't want this," he said to the mirror. "I never wanted it like this."

He rolled up his sleeve and began scrubbing his arm in the water from the sink. He scrubbed ferociously, with all the strength in his skinny arms. The skin around the Dark Mark on his arm began to turn an angry red, and still he scrubbed.

"You said I would be powerful. You didn't say I had to kill children," he muttered as he scrubbed. "I won't. I won't do it. I can't. I don't even know how, I don't think it will work . . ."

He kept scrubbing, faster and faster, until he began to cry again, collapsing against the sink, and his sleeve fell over the mark on his arm—that was now, Harry saw, oozing blood in a couple of places.

"This is so stupid," he whispered. "Look at yourself. You're pathetic."

The pep talk didn't seem to help.

Harry must have breathed too loudly, or made the door squeak or something. He wasn't sure what noise he made, or even if Draco just suddenly felt the eyes on him. Draco spun around with a gasp and immediately straightened up, using all the poise he could muster while tear tracks were emblazoned on his face.

"_Potter_. What do you want?"

"Nothing. Thought you were a girl, thought I could help. I'll just leave you to it, shall I?"

Draco's mouth was working like he meant to say something, so Harry paused politely.

"Simpleton, we're-all-going-to-save-each-other, Potter. What are you doing in your pyjamas?"

"I just got out of the infirmary, if you must know. Sorry my appearance doesn't meet your standards."

"Nothing about you meets my standards, Potter," Draco declared with a slightly hysterical laugh. "Not your tatty nightclothes nor your empty rhetoric."

"Which rhetoric?"

"I'm not a hero," he said in a high, sing-song voice. "Let's all be heroes together. Like you don't think you're special."

"I don't think I'm special. I think I'm dedicated. Big difference. As for the rest of that interview, I don't remember a single piece of empty rhetoric. I was being honest. Especially about everyone having their part. It means that I value each individual person in this fight that much more."

"The sad thing is, I think I believe you," Draco said with a pitying look. "You are so terribly naïve, Potter."

"I'm sure I am. Look, Draco, I don't care if you disapprove of me. I never did. I don't live my life for anyone's approval, much less yours. I mean, look at the great decisions you've been making," he said with a brief gesture at his own forearm, causing a flash of panic in Draco's eyes. "I don't need it to know that I'm on the right side. Something I don't think you can say. But you made it pretty clear that you're not interested in what I think, so I'll let you be. Bye."

He took a page out of Remus' book, and left before Draco could argue. He could just see the whole thing escalating into a serious fight, and ending up right back in the infirmary. More likely Draco on that last bit, but then he'd have to go around feeling bad, and that would totally disrupt his studies.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione called as soon as he got into the common room. She was sitting with some of the other girls at one of the tables, and she jumped up to meet him.

"Hey, Hermione."

She placed her hands on her hips. "Did you sneak out?"

"Madam Pomfrey said I could go."

"You don't look well enough to leave. You still look very tired and overstressed."

"Hermione," he chuckled, "if a stay in the infirmary could cure that, I'd be there every weekend."

She didn't appear to find it funny.

He glanced over and found Burgar with a couple of other seventh-year blokes, near the fire playing a game of some kind.

"Don't worry about Jonathan, Harry, he is sulking."

"Why?"

"Because he didn't want me to go see you yesterday and I did it anyway."

"You did?" he said, unable to help his smile. He ached to draw her into a hug, the way he would have a year ago. Just that much, give him just that much again.

"Of course I did, you ninny. Didn't I just say to you that you needed to take better care of yourself because I'd be so upset if something happened to you?"

He shrugged. "I remember. I'm just not very good at it, see."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, that _I_ remember." Then she took him by the hands and led him to sit down beside her on one of the most comfortable couches. A look from her had the other occupants scurrying. "I should have remembered that you need me to remind you when you're getting too wrapped up in something. I promise that I will try to keep a better eye on you from now on."

Harry frowned at her. "Don't you think Jonathan will be a little upset?"

Hermione shrugged. "I think we've broken up. He kissed me and it was awfully boring. I told him I didn't see our relationship moving forward."

Harry pouted. "You let him kiss you? I never got to kiss you."

"Well, if you're as bad as Jonathan is, you never will."

Harry grinned at that. "I wouldn't worry on that score." Then he caught himself and gave her an anxious look. "Are you still mad at me for the other girls?"

Hermione sighed, squeezed his hands, looked down at them. "I wasn't really mad at you, exactly. I just didn't think I was good enough for you. I mean, you told me you were happy with me, but I didn't think it was true. And I was afraid, too. I thought I couldn't handle it. All the things that you face, all the things that are still to come. How could I be big enough to stand up to them? I thought there was someone else out there who could handle it better than I could."

"And now?"

"Now I know that I can't let fear rule my life anymore," she said, looking up into his eyes. "Nobody is really big enough to stand up to this, but maybe I can handle just being your companion. I know there isn't anybody else who can do research for you like I can, at the very least," she said in a teasing tone.

"There is nobody like you at all," he said firmly. "Not for me."

Hermione smiled sadly. "Yes, well, now that I have seen how excruciatingly lonely you've been, I think I believe you." She welled up with tears. "Will you forgive me, Harry? I was so fearful and it made me so selfish."

"I'm not sure that I have anything to forgive you for," he said slowly. "You're allowed to make up your own mind about things. You can't make your decisions based on how it affects me."

"I can if I want to," she said in a lofty tone. "Besides, that's only one reason. I still think Voldemort is an evil old man and I can't wait to get back to work bringing him down."

Harry laughed at the gleam in her eyes when she said it, and brought his forehead to rest against hers. "Hermione, it's going to take days to catch you up on everything you've missed."


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:** I am soooo sorry for the lateness of this chapter! It was quite a struggle to write, reasons for which will shortly become apparent to you. This chapter made me very emotional. I hope it's written well enough to get you emotional, as well._

* * *

Chapter Ten

It was three days before Harry got up the nerve to put his arm around Hermione while they were sitting together. He was afraid he'd scare her off again. But all it really did was make her impatient with him.

They partnered up at the DL meeting they went to, the night after Harry returned from his brief stay in the hospital wing. They wiped the floor with Ron and Parvati, then with Ginny and Cho. Neville and Ernie gave them trouble, but they held their own. The two of them began to study together again. They politely invited Jonny to join them in their rune translation exercises, but he seemed to be a poor loser. He preferred to sit across the room and do his exercises with the two other seventh-years in his class, and direct dark looks at the happy pair. They didn't really notice.

Hermione wasn't having any of Harry's hesitation. She was constantly taking hold of his hand or touching him in some small way when they talked. She was carefully and resolutely convincing him of what she wanted, namely to resume a romantic relationship as well as their friendship. Whereas Harry was still anxiously trying to prove the same thing he had last year, which was that he wasn't so horny he couldn't keep his hands to himself around a very shy girlfriend. It was an extremely exasperating position for Hermione. She was quite certain that she'd moved beyond that stage, but Harry wasn't getting the hint.

To be fair, he had other things on his mind. Every since the interview (which she'd read with so much delight that she was sure its publication was the beginning of the end of things with Jonathan) he'd been dealing with the reactions to it. He got a standing ovation in the common room, but he was absolutely bombarded with letters that contained a strong mix of good and bad.

Madam Bones, whom he told Hermione was his best ally in the Ministry, sent him a letter full of praise for Miss Garnet but also full of caution that Harry should hold himself back a little more in the future, be more circumspect. Hermione disagreed, but Harry seemed to take it seriously. Cornelius Fudge sent a letter that was basically a polite dismissal of the whole thing. He seemed to think that Harry should have used the opportunity to create more solidarity with himself and the Ministry. When Harry finished reading that one, he calmly lit it on fire and dropped it into a jug of pumpkin juice.

"He's getting sacked any day now," he confided in her. "He's been completely ineffective since Voldemort started showing up again, and he can't count on my popularity to prop him up anymore."

Mostly, the letters were positive. A lot of people who hadn't believed in Harry thus far had become sudden converts to his cause. For some reason, everything he'd said in meetings with the Ministry was dismissed as propaganda, but this interview was bringing people off the fence in droves. It was rather alarming, he told her. He hadn't imagined that simply getting published unedited would convince so many people to throw themselves into danger.

The ones that weren't positive were really, really bad, though. He laughed off the death threats and open mockery. He said he felt sorry for the people who were so insecure that they felt the need to send such things.

"Does that include Malfoy?" she prodded, knowing the incident he'd told her about in the abandoned bathroom was bothering him.

He glared down into his breakfast. "He had way too many chances already."

She just looked at him.

"Yes, I feel sorry for him," he grumped.

The worst came at breakfast on Friday. Ginny and Dean, who were (miraculously) still dating, were sitting beside Harry and Hermione. It was the moment when Harry had just decided that it would be okay to slide his arm around his girlfriend because she looked good enough to eat this morning and she'd want to see the latest letter, anyway. She leaned into him with a brilliant smile and stole a slice of banana out of his cereal.

When he opened the innocent-looking envelope, it exploded. Not with fire, but with some thick, goopy substance that splattered out and landed all over his robes and face, even getting into his hair. Hermione jerked back with a shriek, but it was too late, it got her, too.

_YOU WANTED TO BE AN EXAMPLE OF SOMEONE WHO RESISTS THE DARK LORD. NOW YOU ARE._

Harry and Hermione stared at one another, stunned. Harry glanced over. Dean and Ginny, who'd been sharing a mid-breakfast smooch (which he'd just been thinking was brave of Ginny what with Dean's morning breath), had also been caught by the explosion and flecks of it spattered across their shocked faces. Harry looked down the length of the table, and then across the Great Hall. Everyone was staring at them.

They were covered in blood.

* * *

The common room was quiet that night. The Quidditch team was practicing, but Harry had begged off, and a lot of students had been so eager to escape the oppressive pensiveness in their house that they'd gone out to watch. The people who were inside were quiet and introspective, for the most part. They gave Harry and Hermione a lot of space.

But still, Harry took her up into his dormitory to speak to her, for the things he wanted to talk about were not for another's ears. He hadn't had time to get her caught up on anything important yet, so he sat on Ron's bed and she sat on his and he spoke as quickly as possible. Merfolk, Horcrux identification, Dumbledore's failing health, Harry's fever-pitch in his studies, Remus and the werewolves and the Wolfsbane potions . . . He saved the Deathly Hallows for the end. He was terribly embarrassed to admit to her that he'd been meeting with a well-known crackpot to get information on something she thought was a myth.

But she just asked to see his cloak. She'd seen it before, back when he first got it. He hadn't used it much. He was a little afraid to, seeing as how it was one of the three most legendary objects in all of magical Britain.

"You're certain?" she asked, letting the silky material spill through her fingers.

He sat beside her on his bed. "Yes."

She nodded, accepting the idea. She knew Harry too well to think he was stupid or a liar, and therefore she believed him. "And you really think Dumbledore knows where the Elder Wand is?"

"I do."

"But you haven't asked him yet."

Harry shook his head mutely.

"You just told me you don't think you can defeat Voldemort without it, and that you think Dumbledore isn't going to last much longer. What are you waiting for?"

Harry shrugged. It was easy enough on the surface, when you said it like that.

"Harry. What are you afraid of?"

He looked down at his hands, clasped together between his knees as he hunched over the edge of the bed. "Myself," he whispered. "I want to hurt him, Hermione. I've imagined it. I got angry and got in some fights when we lived in Brazil, but I was twelve and it wasn't like this. I've never had this . . . desire. To really hurt someone. And I'm afraid of what I'd become if I find the wand. If I have all the power, what if I don't want to let it go?"

Tears dripped onto his arms as he leaned over the bed and struggled against the torturous pain eating him up. He was surprised to see them. He hadn't noticed the tight feeling in his throat and his chest. He hadn't even really known how afraid he was until now.

"Harry," she murmured, and pulled his head onto her shoulder.

He didn't want to do this. He was supposed to be the stronger of the two of them. He identified himself by his cool, logical approach to life and his status as protector of the weak. So he tried to take a few deep breaths and sit back up and tell her the last thing she needed to know. She didn't know about tomorrow yet . . .

He melted into her, burying himself in her arms and trying not to cry over how much he'd missed having someone in his life that could give him this. He hadn't known how sad he was over everything that was happening, but the fight against tears was so hard that he gave up. He began to feel exhausted and fell asleep mumbling his apologies while Hermione ran her fingers through his hair.

* * *

Hermione drew the curtains around the bed when she heard someone coming up the stairs and opening the door. She knew Harry wouldn't want anyone to see him this way, sleeping with salty streaks on his cheeks and his head in her lap. He had to keep up the appearance of enduring strength until this was over, much as she hated the idea. It might be nice to have a hero who was honest, but a weepy hero didn't really provoke a lot of faith.

A hand slipped in and drew back the curtains. Hermione drew her wand and had to stop her brain in the middle of casting a nonverbal Stunning spell. Her wand shot out a pathetic red fizzle.

Sirius smiled at her. "Hello, Miss Granger."

"Professor Black."

"I see the two of you are back together."

"I guess so."

"Then just call me Sirius. Don't tell your classmates I let you do that, though."

"Okay, sir."

"I came up to check on him. I've been getting reports from Ron ever since he got out of the hospital wing, but I thought after what happened this morning, he might actually admit to me that he's not in tip-top shape. He thinks he needs to protect me or something." Sirius indicated how he felt about that with a very dramatic roll of his eyes.

"Well, he cried a little and fell asleep," she said dryly. "But I'm taking care of him."

"Good," Sirius said firmly.

She gave him a puzzled look. "He said you told him to leave me alone."

Sirius shrugged. "I did. And he did leave you alone. But you still somehow ended up together again, so I think my objections are probably a lost cause. Besides, I think I've changed my mind. I always liked you, you know. You are the only person I can think of who will be able to stay with him through the end of this."

She smiled serenely. "He tells me it's because I'm stubborn. He's probably right, but I know he needs me and I think I might need him, too."

"At least he's getting some sleep. I can tell that he's worried about tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

Sirius frowned. "He didn't tell you yet."

"Well, he told me as much as he could before he sort of fell apart. What happens tomorrow?"

"Dumbledore thinks he's located one of the Horcruxes. He's taking Harry with him to fetch it tomorrow night. I wanted to come with them, but they think it would be too obvious. I don't Dumbledore even wanted to bring Harry, but . . ."

"But he's afraid he won't be able to do it on his own," Hermione said in a quiet voice.

"Yeah," Sirius sighed. He sat down on the bed next to the two teenagers. Harry still didn't wake, although he did mumble something and wrap his arms around Hermione's leg.

She paused a moment to tenderly brush the hair out of his face. "Professor? What are we going to do when the headmaster is gone?"

Sirius shook his head. "I have no idea."

They sat in silence for some time.

"Professor?"

"Yes? And it's Sirius, by the way."

"I want to ask you something, but I'm afraid it's inappropriate."

The man smirked at her and made a casual inspection of his fingernails (which were dirty and broken from work at the werewolf community and from tinkering with an old motorbike). "If Harry has told you anything about me, you ought to know that you and I have very different ideas about what is inappropriate."

She felt her face turning red and huffed at him.

"Well, if you two are back together, you've got to get used to me," he protested. "I'm dissolute and tactless."

"You're horrid," she said, tossing her hair. "I'd forgotten."

"What were you going to ask me, Miss Granger?"

"You could call me Hermione. I might find it easier to stop calling you Professor if you called me by name first."

"All right. What is it, Hermione?"

"Do you ever wish that you hadn't come back?"

The surprised look on his face made her blush.

"Sorry, sir, I told you it was inappropriate."

"No, it isn't. I'm just shocked that you would think to ask. There isn't anyone else in this entire country who thinks we had a choice. The answer is, every damn day."

Sirius placed his hand on Harry's back, and still the teenager didn't wake up. He did frown rather spectacularly, so Sirius took his hand away.

"I've always wondered if he might have been able to live a normal life if I kept him away from England. But that's just me thinking like a dad. I know better than to think life can be lived in reverse. We've closed the curtain on running away, and now the hiding act is over, too. This is something new. And it frightens me how much it feels like the final act."

"You don't mean that you think we'll fail?"

"No, I don't think that. But I do think that once it's over, this entire society is going to have to reinvent itself. Including us."

Hermione looked down at her boyfriend, who frowned even in his sleep. "Not him, though."

"Maybe not," Sirius said, still frowning. "He's made his whole life about not regretting who he is and about what he wants in spite of all this."

Harry muttered something, and they both looked at him, then one another. They were both thinking that he was only pretending to be asleep, because Harry never talked in his sleep. But his frown only deepened, and his fingers clenched tight into the bedding. He was starting to sweat.

"Should we wake him up?" Hermione whispered.

"I don't know."

"Do you think it's . . .?"

"It might be."

"We should wake him up."

"What if he needs time to fight it off?"

The problem was solved for them. Harry's eyes snapped open and he threw himself off of Hermione and off the bed, standing up with wild eyes, hair and clothes in disarray.

"I have to find Sirius!" he cried out.

"Harry . . . I'm right here."

The crazy look faded a little, and he focused on Sirius. "Oh. Good. Sirius, you have to get them out. The Bones family. Madam Amelia, Susan's parents, everybody. Right now!"

Sirius jumped up. "How many are coming for them?"

Harry shook his head, simultaneously combing his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. Half an hour, or less. That much, I know."  
"Does he know you saw?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Sirius, wait! I don't know if Professor Snape is supposed to know. We can't blow his cover."

Sirius thought for only a second. "We don't have to. Remus and Tonks are at the werewolf compound, I'll go get them. And Kingsley Shacklebolt. There is absolutely no reason that the four of us wouldn't be meeting with Madam Bones to be talking politics, or drafting a petition, or something. We can hold off whoever comes."

"I'm coming with you," Harry said, rummaging in his trunk for his cloak.

"No," Sirius said firmly. "We can't risk it."

Harry stood up indignantly, cloak in hand. "You think I couldn't handle myself in the fight?"

Sirius gave him a quelling look. "I'm not an idiot. But if you'd calm down for a moment, you'd remember that you have something to do tomorrow that you won't be able to do if you're injured. I can call for other backup. There isn't anyone else Dumbledore would take with him."

Harry let out a heavy breath, and then sat down on the bed. "You're right. And that sucks." He handed Sirius the cloak. "This might come in handy."

Sirius took the cloak with a nod. "I'll let you know when I get back."

Harry nodded in reply. "Okay."

Then Sirius was gone, running all-out to get out of the castle's wards to where he could Apparate.

Hermione made a scoffing noise. "Boys. A _girl_ would have reminded him that she loved him and that she wanted him to be safe or something."

"That's because girls talk too much," Harry said. Then he did a double-take. "Did I fall asleep while we were talking?"

"Right in my lap," she said without a hint of embarrassment.

Harry immediately placed himself back in that position, laying his head on her leg and smiling up at her. "Hope you weren't bored."

"I had a lot to think about."

"I still haven't told you about tomorrow, have I?"

"Sirius told me."

"Oh, Sirius, is it?"

"He said I didn't have to call him Professor Black anymore."

Harry smiled and said, "Good," but his eyes were far away. He lifted his hand to hers and twined their fingers together and didn't say anything for a long time. He eventually Summoned some homework to the bed, and they stayed there studying even when the other boys came in. They did draw the curtains when Seamus dropped his trousers and started doing a suggestive dance with his pyjama bottoms.

At midnight, they went down to the common room. Professor McGonagall didn't bother them at all, so they knew she'd been informed about the Bones situation. They fall asleep together on the sofa about one o'clock in the morning. At two-thirty, Sirius tiptoed in, moving cautiously in a room lit only by the embers of the fire.

"Harry, Hermione," he whispered.

Harry woke immediately, but since Hermione had her legs thrown across him, he didn't get up.

"Well?" he whispered.

"They're safe. Everyone's safe."

"Good."

"When I showed up to get Remus and Tonks, his friends Neil and Jeremy insisted on coming along. The Death Eaters were actually outnumbered."

"Voldemort?"

"He disappeared before anyone could engage him."

"Did he know it was me?"

"No. When they showed up, we were all sitting around the parlour with about twenty lawbooks arguing about whether or not there was precedent for . . . Merlin knows. Amelia, Remus and Kingsley were the only ones who had any idea what they were talking about. But it looked good, which is the point. And we arrested two of them."

"Who?"

"Macnair and Crabbe."

"Would have really made my night if you'd said Lestrange and Malfoy," Harry muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"Are you kidding? Voldemort wouldn't waste them on such a small assignment."

"Well. If he'd known you were there . . ."

"But he didn't, so we win. Thanks to you, Harry."

Harry yawned. "Yeah. I should go to bed." He looked at Hermione, still sleeping with her arm cradling her head and her legs draped over Harry's. "I don't want to wake her up, but I can't carry her to her room without setting off the alarm."

Sirius shook his head in disappointment. "Harry."

Harry grinned at him. "Really?"

"Figured out how to turn it off my fifth year. Of course, I didn't have any reason to use that knowledge until seventh year, but I do like to plan ahead."

Harry rolled his eyes, already on his feet with Hermione in his arms. "Just do it, would you? She's heavier than she looks."

In reply, Sirius threw the cloak over his godson's head and laughed to himself as he watched a pair of legs and Hermione's torso float up the stairs.

* * *

The first part was very simple. Harry kissed Hermione on the cheek and left her in the library, then hurried to Dumbledore's office and called Sirius from there to say he'd check in when they returned. Dumbledore thought it best if he was seen leaving the castle alone, but Harry wasn't about to lose his cloak by possible misadventure, so he just had Dumbledore cast a Disillusionment Charm on him. Then they left.

When Dumbledore said they would have to swim to the entrance of the cave, Harry stared at him.

"We can't Apparate?"

"I think it unlikely we will be able to do so without triggering an alarm of some kind."

"All right, then," Harry said philosophically, and began stripping off his clothes. With robes, shoes, and socks left safely on the bank, he dove in. He stayed behind Dumbledore, afraid the older man wouldn't do well, but he was a smart swimmer, using the motion of the water in his favour. Harry didn't know why Dumbledore wanted to swim with his robes on, but he bit his tongue to avoid having to see skinny white old-man legs.

Once they were again on the ground, Harry Summoned his clothes back. Dumbledore was feeling around the entrance and beginning to look disappointed. By the time Harry had gotten dressed, Dumbledore had already cut himself open and dribbled blood on the entrance to gain their admittance. Harry made a face.

"That's just cheesy."

"I quite agree," Dumbledore said.

Dumbledore was figuring this out as he went, Harry realised. He watched Dumbledore work and find the boat.

"Sir? How are you able to guess what spells are being used? Is it some kind of revealing spell?"

Dumbledore just smiled. "You really are an amazing pupil, Harry."

"I really can't help it, you know. So will you show me?"

Most of Dumbledore's ability to arrive at an intelligent conclusion was through knowing the caster of the spells, it turned out. But apparently, if you spent enough years around enough types of protective spells, they began to feel differently to you. Certain spells had a certain resonance that Dumbledore had learned to recognise. Harry closed his eyes and walked slowly from the cave's entrance to the edge of the lake where the boat waited. He did, indeed, feel something different. A sort of buzzing in his head that changed pitch as he moved.

"I suppose that's all the time we have for my first lesson," he sighed, and looked down at the boat. "I don't like the look of _this_."

"I think we may have a problem."

"Voldemort wouldn't just leave a boat for anyone who happened along, right? What do you think it will do?"

"It will only carry one of us. I imagine that there is something waiting on the other side that will be difficult for one person to handle alone. If you were any other teenager, I would think your magical weight was low enough to risk it, but I'm afraid that you have developed too far for that."

Harry looked to the centre of the lake, where waited (they assumed) the Horcrux. "I'll go get it. You wait here."

"No, Harry. We do not know what further dangers there may be. It will have to be me."

"We're both going," Harry concluded, and carefully set his wand down on the ground. "Um, sir? There's something I haven't told you. About me, that is. But there's really no help for it now. Neither of us is going to let the other one go alone, and if only one of us can be in the boat . . ."

Dumbledore looked concerned.

There wasn't much choice left, and Harry let go of the last secret he had from Dumbledore.

Harry transformed.

He'd gotten good enough at it that it didn't take long anymore. He'd already grasped his wand in his talons and gained some height by the time Dumbledore stopped gaping. Harry spread his wings, tilted, and began to circle the boat, impatient for the old man to get a move on. He could explain things when they were on the other side and he was human again. Dumbledore seemed to get it, and climbed into the boat. Harry kept an eye on the dead things in the lake, but they were quiet. Perfect. Obviously Voldemort hadn't thought about random owls who might have a vested interest in pieces of his soul.

Harry transformed back into himself when he arrived at island in the centre of the lake. He was waiting with a smile when Dumbledore landed the boat.

"I should explain," Harry began.

"You are an Animagus," Dumbledore said in a smooth, unperturbed voice. "I imagine you did not tell me because you are unregistered and you believe it would be wise to keep it secret."

Harry shrugged. "Okay, yeah, it's a simple explanation. So, now you know."

"Yes. It has solved one problem already this evening, so I cannot find it in me to object."

They faced the basin.

"I reckon we don't just reach in and grab the locket," Harry said slowly.

Dumbledore shrugged, and did reach in. "Ah, apparently not. It was worth trying though."

"Don't suppose we can tip the basin over."

"I don't believe so, no."

"He wants us to drink it. Poison?"

"I do not think it will be lethal. At least not immediately."

"Yeah, he'd want us to suffer first. Alone, of course, because only one person gets to come in the boat."

"I will drink it," Dumbledore said.

"Are you kidding? Being the younger and stronger of the two of us, I'm a lot more likely to be able to handle it . . .whatever it is."

"And I, being the older and weaker of the two of us, am far more dispensable."

Harry crossed his arms. "Hah."

"If you are incapacitated, I may not be able to get both of us safely back. You are far more able to do so if I am similarly incapacitated."

"Headmaster, sir, with all due respect, that's stupid. You're not in any shape to tax yourself with something like this, and I am."

"Harry, that is exactly my point."

Harry frowned very hard and looked at the ground stubbornly.

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said gently. "I am not in any shape to get us out of here if something happens to you. I am already approaching the end of the time that has been given to me, and it is far more expedient that I experience the effects of this potion, whatever it may be."

"Expedient, my muscular buttocks," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore drank.

He got through the first few cups on his own, then he began pleading with something that wasn't there. Harry looked at the Inferi floating below the surface of the lake, looked at Dumbledore, who was beginning to cry, and sighed.

"To hell with this, anyway."

He took the goblet and began bailing the potion out as fast as he could. The moment the first cupful hit the ground, he heard splashes in the lake. The Inferi were going to start attacking, then. _Great_. He bailed faster. He heard Dumbledore gasp out a few spells, and glanced over his shoulder to see a couple of the cold, fish-like bodies writhing around in flames. Gross, but awesome. There was one almost on top of him, and he beaned it in the head with the goblet while he reached in and grabbed the locket.

The locket flashed in the meagre light, swinging by the chain from his hand, as he swung around to see a veritable army of dead bodies jumping from the lake and converging on every side of the island.

"Okay, so drinking the damn potion would have been better." Then he picked up his wand and got to work. He didn't think about the fact that this would likely be the worst test of his magical abilities he'd yet experienced. He just knew they were in trouble, and fell to it. The Inferi who'd wrapped his strong arms around Dumbledore's leg fell back when Harry's spell sliced the arms clean off its body.

They were surrounded. Harry cast a Blasting Curse that threw all the Inferi on the island back and onto the ground.

"Um . . ." he whimpered, thinking hard during the mere seconds he'd bought himself. There was no way to get to the boat now, not unless Dumbledore stopped crying and starting fighting. He summoned the small boat and set it down directly in front of Dumbledore. "Get in, sir."

Dumbledore did, although he was looking at Harry like the boy was crazy. Which the boy might be, but he was getting them the hell out of there.

"_Reducto! Reducto! Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!_" Spinning in a quick circle, Harry cast with all his strength, over and over, switching to non-verbal because his tongue started tripping over the word. The shores of the island began to crumble, and the Inferi fell back into the water. He dragged the boat to the now much-closer lake water and jumped in. He began to propel them to the exit, praying fervently that his arm wouldn't get chomped off while he held his wand in the water. But he needn't have worried. Dumbledore had recovered enough to begin casting fire curses all over the place, lighting any Inferi who got near enough to their boat into a flaming torch, showing the way out. Harry began bringing his wand up for brief moments to help.

Thus, with jerks and pauses and a series of fiery explosions, they got out of the cave more or less intact. The Horcrux never left Harry's death grip.

* * *

When Dumbledore cast the Disillusionment Charm on Harry to sneak him back into Hogwarts, Harry returned the favour. Dumbledore had yet to recover from the effects of the potion he'd been drinking, and Harry didn't want any of the students, or even the professors, to see Dumbledore right now. In fact, Harry ended up pulling the old wizard's arm over his shoulder and supporting him as they quietly crept up to his office.

Harry called Sirius immediately to tell him they'd returned, but fudged on the details of the trip. He was more concerned about making sure the headmaster was okay. He was incredibly pale and looking shaky. He said goodbye to Sirius and turned back to the headmaster, who was petting Fawkes. Fawkes hooted softly, sadly, and dribbled tears over his master's hands, but the one stayed blackened and ugly, while the other looked palsied.

"Sir? We should lock this away somewhere for the night, and deal with it when we've both had time to rest."

"Yes," Dumbledore said absently. He did not follow that with a suggestion of a place to put the locket or even turn around.

"Sir, should I have Madam Pomfrey come up?"

"I do not think she can offer much help to me, Harry, but thank you."

"Then I'll leave this here with you and come back tomorrow so you can show me how to destroy it."

"Very well, my boy."

Harry was worried. When he left, he did go to Madam Pomfrey and offer the suggestion that checking on the headmaster might be a good idea. She vowed to bring him a potion for fatigue immediately. Harry wondered why, as he went to bed, that didn't make him feel any better. He'd never seen Dumbledore cry before.

* * *

Sunday started out as a good day for Harry. He and Hermione snuck out (with Professor McGonagall's permission) and hung out at home with Sirius in the afternoon. He was still feeling overwhelmed by the previous night's excursion, and didn't want to face any of his roommates. He told Sirius and Hermione the story of the locket's retrieval, but left out how worried he was about the headmaster, and didn't tell them how badly the potion had affected him. He and Hermione ended up studying through the late afternoon, since the end of the year was quickly approaching. Sirius, after grading some essays from the third-year students, decided to go visit the werewolves, leaving the teenagers with an admonition to get back to school by seven o'clock.

They studied in a rather lazy way, spending most of their time curled up in the parlour in a pool of sunshine, he nuzzling her hair and scribbling silly love poems on her notes, and she kissing his hands and laying her head across his textbook. It was amazing they accomplished anything, or perhaps not so amazing considering that they were the top two students in all their classes.

At five-thirty, they got very serious and ended up at opposite ends of the room so that Hermione could memorize some Potions recipes and Harry could finish translating a passage from runes into English—and then translate it again into Mermish, just to keep up with his studies with Reed. They headed back to the school just before anyone would call looking for them.

At the entrance to the common room, Harry said goodnight to Hermione.

"You're going to destroy it tonight for good?" Hermione whispered.

Harry just nodded.

"I'm glad," she said, and dropped her head against his chest. "Just knowing those things are out there . . . Harry, I want to know if there's anything more I can do to help. Whatever you need, you tell me. I want to be able to sleep at night again."

He smiled at her, feeling her words like sharp knives and thinking Sirius might have been right about keeping her out of danger. "Thank you. I'll tell you about it when I see you in the morning, yeah?"

She nodded, and got on her toes to plant a very quick kiss on his surprised lips. "Goodnight, Harry," she said, ducking into the portrait hole.

He smiled all the way to his confrontation with Voldemort's soul.

The smile disappeared when he saw Dumbledore. He didn't find it again for a long time after that night.

"Sir, you . . ." The thought that it might be rude to point out Dumbledore's appearance came too late, and Harry didn't feel like editing his thoughts anyway. "You look horrible."

"I do apologise, Harry. Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, his voice hollow as he took in Dumbledore's pale, sunken face and slow gait.

"I placed the locket in this cupboard last night, and I have not removed it yet. I thought it was far more prudent to wait until we were both present before I subjected myself to any influence it may have."

"Uh, good thinking, sir."

"I must tell you how impressed and proud I was last night, Harry. You did wonderfully."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, humbly. He could have done better. He could have found a way to get the locket without causing this damage to Dumbledore's already fragile health.

"Let us begin, then."

Dumbledore opened the cupboard, and retrieved the locket. His face immediately took on a very worried cast. Harry stepped closer and looked down. He slowly picked it up. There was nothing that seemed to indicate its connection to Voldemort. He didn't feel weird about holding it or anything. With a glance at the headmaster for permission, he stuck a fingernail under the edge and pried it open.

A piece of paper fell out.

Dumbledore drew a sharp breath, and Harry began to read the paper aloud.

"To the Dark Lord. I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret . . . Well, sir, it appears we're not the first to stumble upon the truth about Voldemort."

Feeling suddenly very short of breath, Harry handed the note over to Dumbledore, who read it to himself. He set it down on his desk and walked to his chair and sat down. He was white and silent. Harry wasn't much better. This was not the real locket. All that danger they'd put themselves in, and someone else had gotten there first. The implications were staggering. If it was still there, Voldemort had never discovered the treachery, which seemed to indicate that he didn't know the diary or the ring was destroyed, either. Not only that, but the Horcrux thief might still be alive.

"I wonder if this R.A.B. is still out there," Harry murmured.

Dumbledore made a groaning noise, and Harry snapped out of it. He turned a sharp look on the headmaster.

"Sir?"

His voice was high and frightened, but he wasn't worried about his image at this point.

"I am so tired . . ." Dumbledore murmured. "So much more to do . . ."

"Professor," Harry said in alarm, and hurried to his side. "What is it?"

"Harry, Madam Pomfrey is fully prepared with records of treatment she has given me. She will be able to prove I have been suffering from a long illness. If anyone asks you about it, I know you will be cautious about what you should say, so I do not worry about coaching you in a response. You know that the truth of this curse must be kept private."

"Sir, don't," Harry whispered.

Dumbledore raised his wand and a silvery shadow of his pet phoenix drifted out of his office. "I have called Severus, and I think it would be best if you left now, Harry."

He wasn't fully certain of what was happening, or wouldn't let himself be, but he wasn't going to leave. "Sir, let me stay. Until Professor Snape gets here," he added hastily, before Dumbledore could say no. "I'll go then."

Dumbledore murmured some noise of acceptance, and Harry found that he had nothing else to say. His heart was hammering, but he didn't know why. He dropped to his knee beside Dumbledore's chair, not willing to even leave his side to get his own chair. He was afraid of what Dumbledore wanted with Snape, and afraid of everything he had just said. He was afraid of the truth behind this false Horcrux sitting on the desk . . .

He swept the locket and note off the desk and into his pocket hastily. As far as he was aware, Snape didn't know about the Horcruxes and never would. That man had his own part to play in the war. This part belonged to Harry.

Then he remembered what it was that he still needed to say.

"The Elder Wand," he blurted out. "You know where it is."

Dumbledore looked surprised by the subject being raised.

"I don't think I can face him without it," Harry confessed. "And all my research has led me to you."

"How long have you known that you would need to ask me?"

"Quite a while."

"But you waited, Harry. Why?"

"Because the power . . . seems like it's too much. But I know what I will use it for, and I will not allow myself anything but that."

"You think that you are strong enough for it?"

Harry raised his eyes. "I don't have to think that I am. I just have to _be_ strong enough. I will be."

Dumbledore smiled with infinite sadness. "I have never let that wand out of my sight in fifty years."

Harry looked at Dumbledore's wand, stunned by the simplicity of it. "Really?"

"Harry, do you understand what it means, to take this? It means you must end your life undefeated, to break its power. That was my plan. Even now, I will not let it pass to you if you will not do the same."

Harry held his breath for a moment. "Yes, I know."

"Quickly, then," Dumbledore said, laying his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"_Expelliarmus_," Harry whispered with regret. He hid the wand away in his robes as soon as it made the short hop into his hand.

"I think you will need this, as well," Dumbledore said, and removed the cracked ring from his curse-blackened fingers. Harry accepted the ring without question, dropping it into his pocket beside the locket and the note, just as the door opened. He stood up when Professor Snape entered. Harry had hardly spoken to him all year, except for a couple of grudgingly-enjoyed minor discussions about Potions theory in Snape's classroom, and he didn't know if he should say anything now.

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said, arresting him before he could step away from his side. "Never forget the faith I have in you."

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed. "No, sir. I won't. Thank you."

He took the first step away, and it felt like he dragged himself through thick mud. The second step was harder, not easier. Professor Snape moved in to take his place.

"I am afraid that the time has come, Severus," Dumbledore murmured. "Your place at Voldemort's side will be assured now."

Of course. It made sense that Dumbledore would use even this as a weapon in this war. Harry stopped walking, and turned back.

"I'm not leaving."

Professor Snape's face was fixed in stone, and his eyes glittered with anger. But it was Dumbledore, who looked only compassionate and patient, that spoke.

"No, Harry. You have your own task to do."

Harry took a stumbling step back toward them, feeling clumsy and lost. "But sir. If this is . . . If this . . . You should have people with you. You deserve to— to have people with you." _Neville should be here. But if I go get him, they'll do it while I'm gone._ "Let me stay. Please."

He again dropped to his knee at Dumbledore's side, and refused to move. If this was going to happen, he would be here when it did.

"Potter, you—" Snape began with unfathomable hate.

"May stay," Dumbledore said softly. His hand found its way onto Harry's shoulder again.

Snape appeared stumped by that, and he resorted to frowning.

"There are so many things that I feel I should say to you—both of you," Dumbledore said. "But I trust you. You know by now what must be done, and I trust you to carry it out in full. The two of you are wise enough and strong enough to withstand the things that I may not have prepared you for, and it is up to you now to finish what we have begun. And if you do not know of how much I care about you, my words now will have no meaning. Simply remember that I believe in you. Severus?"

His eyes were tortured. "You are certain that it must be now?"

Dumbledore placed his hands in his lap. "I am exhausted with pain, Severus, and I wish you to spare me the humiliation of doing this any more slowly. It is time for us both to take this last step, my boy."

Snape turned away for a moment, but his eyes swept over Harry as though confused about what, exactly, was occupying that space. Harry could feel a fine trembling in himself, just beginning. He wasn't sure he wanted to see this anymore, but it was too late. He'd chosen to stay, and even if he had to close his eyes and plug his ears, at least he would always know that he was _there_ for Dumbledore, at the end.

But Professor Snape continued to hesitate, and Harry did something very impolite and something that if Snape had been in any way prepared for, Harry wouldn't have been able to do. He listened. He stretched out with Legilimency and caught the fragments of his Potions professor's thoughts. They were not entirely coherent, but Harry heard enough. Bitterness, fear, respect, shame, grief, affection . . . they were all at war in the man's mind. But one coherent thought stuck out.

_I don't want to do this._

Professor Snape's reluctance was comprised of so many swirling emotions that Harry nearly choked on the brief glimpse of them, but that was the only thing he really needed to know to make sense of it all. He did not want to kill the one man he truly admired or cared about. He understood the necessity of it, but abhorred the action. It would kill most of whatever was left of him to do it.

Harry stood up. "Professor Snape?"

He turned to Harry with a face that communicated nothing more than pride. It should have been admirable control, but this seemed like the wrong time and place to hide what he was feeling.

Harry closed the short distance between them and held out his hand. "Give me your wand. I'll give it back in a moment."

Perhaps Snape knew that Harry wouldn't ask for such a thing unless he had a really good reason. Perhaps he was so surprised by the sheer absurdity of the request that he didn't think at all. Whatever the reason, Snape let go when Harry's hand closed over his wand, and Harry backed away from him slowly.

He turned again, feeling nauseated and on the verge of passing out. His heart was pounding so hard that he was sweating, and his breath was ragged. He looked at Dumbledore and took strength from what he saw there. There was only a sense of utter and complete calm behind the exterior expression of pain. Dumbledore accepted this.

"I told you I would do it, whatever it was. Remember?" Harry whispered.

"I never could have hoped for as much as you've been willing to give, my boy. Thank you."

"No, sir, I have to thank you, for all the things you've taught me. I learned more from studying you than from the books you gave me. I'm going to miss you." His voice cracked on that. "I hope it's only like going to sleep."

He raised Professor Snape's wand.

"Headmaster," Professor Snape suddenly said in panic.

"All shall be well, Severus. Goodbye."

Harry allowed himself to be swept away by his feelings of loyalty and affection, by his desire not to see Dumbledore suffer, to spare him from dragging this out. He loved this old man, and he wanted what Dumbledore wanted, in that moment. It was the only way the words he was about to speak would do anything but destroy a little piece of Harry. He made himself _want_ this to happen.

"_Avada Kedavra_," he whispered, looking right into the old man's eyes. So he knew the exact moment the light left them, and Dumbledore was gone, and there was only an ancient, broken body sitting there with the traces of a smile on its lips.

He didn't know how long they stood there, he and Snape. It might have been only seconds, or half an hour might have passed before Harry turned to Snape and held out his wand. Snape just stared at it for a moment before snatching it back. He held it in his hands in disbelief.

"Why did you do that, Potter?"

"Because you didn't believe it wasn't murder."

"What on earth are you attempting to articulate with that addled teenaged brain?"

"You didn't want to kill him. You thought it was murder. You shouldn't have had to do it if you didn't believe it was the right thing to do. So I did it. I used your wand because I know Voldemort will check. I guess Madam Pomfrey knows to destroy those records of illness if Voldemort wants it publicly known that you murdered Dumbledore?"

Snape was nearly livid. "You thought to spare me?" he asked with an incredulous sneer. "You did this because you wanted to help me?"

Harry shrugged. He was hardly able to get angry or get into Professor Snape's face at this point. He hadn't entirely absorbed the enormity of what he'd done. He wasn't sure yet that he would ever entirely get his head around this, but he felt quite certain that it was right, whether overwhelming or not.

"Is it so hard to believe?" Harry muttered.

"You have placed me in your debt," Professor Snape bit out.

Harry gave him a sharp look. "No, I haven't. That's not what this was about. This was about _Dumbledore_."

"I am well aware of that, Potter! If you hadn't done it on his behalf, it wouldn't have worked! Nevertheless, you have also done something for me that . . ."

It was a truly rare thing to see Professor Snape at a loss for words. And Harry couldn't take it anymore. He had nothing left to give, this night.

"I'm going home to Sirius," he muttered. "If anyone's looking for me, that's where I'll be."

He trudged down the stairs and collided with someone coming up. Stunned and feeling lost under the weight of his actions, it took him a moment to realise that the collision had taken place, and with whom.

"Draco?"

"Excuse me, Potter."

Harry felt utter panic at the thought of allowing the blond boy past him to see Professor Snape staring at the body of their headmaster. "You can't go up," he said firmly, wondering how on earth he was going to explain this.

Draco looked frightened. He always looked frightened these days, but tonight it seemed to go deeper and be causing him pain.

"You have to let me by," he said, and tried to push past Harry. But Harry was far the stronger of the two, especially with how fragilely thin Draco had become this year. He barred the way up.

"I'm sorry, Draco. You can't go up there."

"I have to see the headmaster," Draco insisted. "Now. If he's busy— but I know he'll see me. I need . . . never mind, Potter, just let me up!"

"Draco, what do you need?"

"It isn't your business, Potter. Move!" he cried desperately, and Harry was shocked to see tears forming in his eyes.

"You really need Dumbledore, not just 'the headmaster,' am I right?" Harry asked slowly.

Draco was furious. "They're the same person, Potter, don't be so ridiculous."

"No, they aren't," Harry said slowly. "Not anymore."

Draco was understandably confused by that. "I don't know what you're on about, but I want to see him immediately!"

"You can't. I'm sorry. He's not there to see."

"What is that supposed to mean? Where has he gone?"

Dry-eyed and dull, Harry answered. "He's dead, Draco."

Draco's face slowly crumpled, and he grabbed at the wall for support. "Dead? But he can't be dead. I need his help."

"I know," Harry said, and felt even more exhausted. He had nothing left to give, but it seemed that something was being required of him all the same. This fell to him, for the moment. Just now, there was no one else. "Tell me."

Draco shook his head violently. "Not you. I don't want your help."

"I'm all there is, until this is sorted out."

"No," Draco said feebly, and backed down a few steps.

"Draco, don't be stupid. I know he's not here, but you said you need help right now. What can I do?"

Draco seemed to be caving in on himself. "I found a way to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. I figured it out weeks ago. There's this cupboard . . . I should be doing it right now. But I can't. I don't wish to do it. I'm his slave, don't you see? I never had any desire to be a slave. I was supposed to be great, but I'm not anything to him. I won't do what he wants. I won't."

"You need protection," Harry guessed.

"Not just me. My mother. I needed Dumbledore to help my mother."

"The Order will do it."

"The what?"

"Never mind, Draco. I'm going to take care of it, I promise you. If you sent a message to your mother to tell her to meet you without telling your father, would she do it?"

"Yes," Draco muttered.

"How can we get a message to her without your father finding out?"

"House elf."

"We'll send mine, then. I'm kind of trusting that your father won't immediately notice that an elf might not be his?"

"It's possible."

"Okay. Come with me."

Harry couldn't face what waited at the top of the stairs, and he couldn't let Draco see it. He took him to Sirius' office and they Flooed to Grimmauld Place from there. Sirius had returned from the werewolf compound and was extremely surprised to have the two boys pop up in the study where he was going over tomorrow's lesson plan.

"Harry, what's happening?" he asked, standing. It was obvious that things were not normal.

"I need to use Kreacher. Kreacher!"

The house elf appeared. "Yes, young master. I see that you have brought the most noble pure-blooded son of mistress Narcissa. Kreacher thinks it is very fine to have a boy of outstanding blood in this house again . . ."

"That's really excellent, Kreacher," Harry said, the strain in his voice making the elf shut up. "I need you to do something for this very fine specimen of pureblood tradition, in fact. I need you to go to the Malfoy house and give a message to mistress Narcissa. _Only_ mistress Narcissa, yeah? Can you do that?"

Kreacher drew himself up, looking haughty. "Kreacher can be entrusted with secret messages, of course he can, he—"

"That's wonderful," Harry said indulgently. "Draco, tell Kreacher the message."

"Tell her that her son needs her to _immediately_ come to, er—"

"Hogwarts," Harry supplied. "She needs to meet you at the school."

"Right, because I don't know where we are. She should meet me at the school," Draco repeated.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said brusquely. "Please come back here as soon as you have delivered the message, that is, as soon as you can without letting anyone besides mistress Narcissa know you are there."

"Kreacher is proud to serve," the house elf said soberly, and disappeared with a crack.

Draco gave Harry a bewildered look. "Are we going back to the school now?"

"No," Harry answered. He turned to Sirius, who stood there with patience, awaiting Harry's explanation. "Sirius, will you go there to meet her?"

Sirius scowled.

"She's your cousin, and she's about to be in danger," Harry said sharply.

"About to be? Why?"

"Draco's defecting," Harry shrugged. "He's staying here, since they'll kill him first. You'll go get his mother."

Sirius clenched his jaw. "Are they supposed to stay here?"

"I don't know yet. What about Tonks' mum? When was the last time you talked to her? Do you think she'd hide her sister and nephew?"

Sirius was getting the first inklings that something was wrong, more than Harry was saying. "What has Dumbledore said?"

Harry nearly screamed. Instead, he choked it back and grabbed Sirius by the arms. "Sirius, listen to me. Just do this. It needs to be done right now, and Dumbledore can't do it. I'll tell you later, but right now, please just _go_."

Sirius took in the ravaged expression on Harry's face, the stiffness of his posture, and decided to simply trust him. He grabbed Harry into a quick hug and said the only thing that seemed right under the circumstances.

"I love you."

He ducked into the fireplace and disappeared. Harry dropped into an armchair and closed his eyes, trying to remember how this whole breathing thing was supposed to work. It wasn't fair, he told the universe or whoever was listening. Not fair at all, to put this on him now, tonight. Why did Draco have to show up now?

Draco cleared his throat.

Harry opened his eyes. "What?" he hissed.

"I just . . . what happened? How did he die?"

Harry glared at Draco. "None of your concern, I'd say. You'll find out eventually. Right now, I'd be more worried that your mother and Sirius are going to kill each other before they can get back here."

Draco began to pace the room. "I didn't want it to be you," he muttered.

"Tough shit," Harry snapped. "I'm what you've got."

Draco gave him a cold look. "I'm aware of that, Potter. And I've obviously lost any pride I might have had, since I appear to be taking help from you."

Harry tried very, very hard to imagine what this was like for Draco. He didn't have any way of knowing what had taken place just before his arrival, so he didn't know that Harry was literally inches away from some kind of psychotic episode. He had swallowed enough of his pride by coming to Dumbledore, and it must be infinitely worse to have his hopes snatched away and be forced to take the poor replacement Harry held out to him.

"Draco . . . for what it's worth, I don't think there's any loss of pride in taking help when you need it. Obviously this is something you couldn't do alone. I'm sorry that it had to be me, okay? I'm sorry."

Harry knew he needed to shut his mouth before random things Draco didn't need to know started spilling out of it. Draco was looking at him like he was bonkers already.

"Whatever, Potter," Draco mumbled, and sat down where Sirius had been sitting.

"Thank you," Harry said, giving him the most earnest look he could manage. "You're doing the right thing, Draco. I can't pretend to know why you're doing it, but I am really glad you are. You could be killing a lot of people right now, and you aren't. Any shame you might be feeling over taking my help is totally cancelled out by that."

Draco began to sneer, so Harry headed off his attitude.

"Besides, I've had a rough night. I'm just glad I don't have to spend half my night kicking Death Eater arse on top of it."

"He's really dead, isn't he?" Draco said, like he hadn't quite believed it before.

Harry jumped up out of his seat. "I need something to drink. You want something?"

Draco shrugged, and stood up to follow him to the kitchen. Harry was heading that way, but then he stopped, turned around, and went to the corner of the study, instead. He opened a cabinet, withdrew a mostly-full bottle of Sirius' favourite whiskey, and poured himself a generous helping into one of the four glasses also kept in the cabinet. He threw it down, gasped, and poured another. He held up the bottle and raised his eyebrows at Draco. The boy gaped at him, then shrugged and held out another glass.

Kreacher appeared while Harry was pouring, making both boys jump in surprise.

"You saw my mother?" Draco blurted out.

Kreacher bowed low. "Kreacher has delivered the message. It took him time to leave without being noticed, but Kreacher is a good elf who obeys all orders."

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said. "You've done good work. Would you mind preparing a room for mistress Narcissa to stay in tonight?"

"Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of Black," was the elf's answer, and to Harry's relief, he went to work and left them alone.

Draco was still nursing his first glass along when Sirius arrived with his mother, but Harry was already on his third. They had remained in strained silence since Harry got out the whiskey. It had taken longer than it should have, but only because Sirius had had to convince his cousin to follow him and assure him that her son was safe, all without having a clue what was going on.

"Draco!" Narcissa gasped out, and smothered him in hugs and kisses, tears on her cheeks. "I was so afraid!"

Harry looked at the pair with dull eyes. Draco looked more like his mother than Harry would have believed, but he had no particular thoughts about it. He didn't really care about anything.

"Listen," Sirius said, using a firm and commanding voice. "You can stay here tonight, and we'll work out a plan tomorrow. I think we ought to call Andy, personally, but we'll talk about it in the morning. I don't know what's going on, exactly, but I gather that the two of you shouldn't be seen or located by the Death Eaters. Again, something we can work out in the morning. For now, you can use the bedroom at the end of the hall on the second floor. Kreacher will get you anything you need."

"You really don't think we ought to talk about any of this tonight?" Narcissa asked in disbelief.

"I would love to, but I need to speak to Harry privately right now," Sirius said serenely. "I'm sure you understand. Good night."

Summarily dismissed, the uninvited houseguests retired with whatever aplomb they could muster. Sirius turned to Harry.

"I tried to see Dumbledore before Narcissa got there, but I couldn't get in. The entrance has been sealed off or something. What in blazes in going on, Harry?"

"He's dead," Harry told his glass of whiskey.

"What? Who's dead?"

"Dumbledore is."

"Didn't you just see him a few hours ago? How could Dumbledore possibly be dead?"

"Because I killed him," Harry replied calmly.

"Harry, this isn't funny."

"No, it isn't. The Horcrux we went to get yesterday was a fake, and Dumbledore just suddenly got overwhelmed by the curse and he was fading really fast. He wanted Professor Snape to do it, you know, to just ease his passage, because if Snape did it, he could tell Voldemort that he killed Dumbledore. But Snape didn't want do it, so I took his wand and I did it for him."

"You . . . did it."

"Yes, Sirius," Harry said in agitation. "I held a wizard's wand in my hand and spoke the words _Avada Kedavra_ with the intent to kill. I killed Dumbledore. I did it because he wanted me to and because he was in a lot of pain. I _killed_ him."

He took several long pulls of whiskey directly from the bottle and stood up.

"I think I'm going to bed now. There's going to be a lot to do in the morning."

"Harry," Sirius said helplessly. "I don't know what to say."

"Goodnight will do fine."

The bottle of whiskey was snatched out of his hand and Sirius set it down on the mantle over the fireplace with a loud clank.

"I cannot believe that all this is going on right now and you're sitting here getting drunk and getting an attitude with me. Talk to me, Harry. Are you being serious? This is the truth? Dumbledore is dead, you helped him die, Snape is going to claim he did it, and meanwhile two-thirds of the Malfoy family is holed up in my house?"

"That's pretty much the gist of it," Harry said wearily. "But you forgot the part about how the Horcrux is a fake."

"Oh, let's not forget that. I knew there was some inevitable shitstorm brewing, but Merlin's balls, this is the big one. Fuck me."

"Sirius, can I have the whiskey back? I'm not nearly drunk enough yet."

Sirius raked his hands through his hair. "Harry, is that really what you want to do?"

"Yes. I don't know." His voice cracked and he stopped talking. He had to get out of there, because he was going to lose it any second and he had to be alone, had to—

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry, kiddo," Sirius said gently, reaching out his arms.

Harry fell into them with a groan of pure pain. He didn't cry. He allowed his godfather to keep him from flying into tiny pieces while he tried to take into himself what he'd done. He blacked out and didn't remember anything after being drawn into that embrace. When he awoke in the morning, he was still in Sirius' arms on the parlour floor.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: **I know that this chapter opens up more questions than it answers, but I had to cut it off here. It didn't seem to fit the mood to have a lot of forward action, but there will be plenty in the next chapter. (And the next chapter ought to be quite a bit longer as well!)_

* * *

Chapter Eleven

There were a lot of people at the funeral. Harry had thought that Dumbledore's sharp drop in popularity would lead to a poor attendance, but he had underestimated the power of hypocrisy. The funeral was held at the school, as they were all certain Dumbledore would have wanted—but Harry noticed that the respect for his supposed wishes only went so far. _He_ was certain that his mentor would have preferred something smaller and less stately, with simple words spoken by someone he was close to.

_If we did it that way, it'd be me or Professor Snape up there_, he reminded himself, and that wouldn't be the best idea. The chaos surrounding both of them . . . no, better to stay off the stage until things settled a bit. Professor Snape was, tactfully and wisely, not present at the ceremony. There were just enough rumours that he murdered Dumbledore to raise a public outcry, yet not enough evidence to legally condemn him. And Madam Pomfrey's records might all be in order, but she had inexplicably lost all memory of putting them together, as well as all memory of the treatments they detailed, as well as any certainty of whether he had been sick or had been killed. Quite the tangle.

In Harry's case, it was purely political. Was he going to be their next white knight? Already they were out for Cornelius Fudge's blood. It was hilarious to Harry. After all the Minister's bungling inefficiency, they were after him for something that was none of his business and which he could have done nothing to prevent? He had never been more certain of how much he hated politics than he was at Dumbledore's funeral.

Especially with the speculative eyes being cast in Sirius' direction. Harry might be their Galahad, but Sirius was older, more experienced, and they were looking for a leader. Yet Harry didn't worry too much about Sirius getting held up on a pedestal, despite the way he saw them looking at his godfather. Sirius was too much of a fringe candidate. He'd been a rogue for too long—a criminal, an exile, and now too firmly entrenched on the side of the werewolves in the civil rights debate.

He didn't realise how deeply he'd sunk into his thoughts until Hermione touched his shoulder and he nearly threw her on the ground and choked her. He took a quick step back while he got control of his reflexes, and mustered up a dry smile at her stunned look.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she said gently, but she was frowning. "Can we talk later?"

Harry sighed to make his frustration plain. He hadn't yet told her the story of Dumbledore's death, not his part in it nor why it had happened. She was aware that he knew the truth, but he'd begged for a little time before he had to explain it. In truth, he wasn't sure if he had the right to tell her. It was bad enough for Snape, to know that Harry held the professor's life in his hands, but the added tension of having Sirius and then Hermione take a share of that responsibility might be too much.

"I don't know," Harry answered her. He looked around at all the people clamouring for one another's attention or trying to get to him, while the students and professors that were in attendance were weeping quietly or clinging together in small groups. It was an ugly sight. "I have to get out of here."

Hermione frowned in concern. "Okay. Do you want to go inside?"

"No," he said, turning away with a feeling of sickness in his gut. "I need to get away from all of this. I can't stand it."

"Let's go to your house, then," she suggested, taking hold of his arm.

Harry didn't think that was far enough, but it was the only place he could go. "Fine, I guess."

"Well, where do you want to go?" she asked with admirable patience.

"_Away_," he whispered. "I want to _leave_."

"Oh, Harry," she whispered back, her eyes sad. "I wish you could."

They found Sirius and told him they were going. Sirius said okay, but with a longing expression that clearly said he wished he could join them. As teenagers, it seemed, less was expected of them. But for an adult, private retreat into grief was unseemly. Sirius, with Remus and Tonks there to protect him from anyone unwelcome, would have to stay awhile longer. He was mostly sticking with Hagrid, who was absolutely undone, and Hagrid's half-brother, the semi-civilised Grawp, who needed to be watched closely while Hagrid was grieving. Harry wished he'd gotten closer to Hagrid so he could join the others and close ranks against the world to mourn Dumbledore's passing. But he'd been so busy that he'd barely had time to get to know his own roommates. He'd never even met Grawp before, although by the looks of things that was no great loss.

Then he had an idea.

"Hermione?"

"What?"

"Would you be very upset if I wanted to go somewhere without you?"

This was their new policy. If he asked a question like that, he expected an honest answer. And vice versa.

"I don't think I'd be upset, but I would feel a little hurt," she said slowly, drawing herself away from him. "But that's only because I don't understand what is going on in your head right now. I know you have a good reason for not talking to me, but I do feel hurt by it. I don't want you to avoid me."

"It's not that," he said hastily, taking her hand and clutching it hard. "It's just that the place I want to go is one you couldn't follow me to."  
She squeezed his hand until it hurt. "How long will you be gone?"

"Just a few hours. I promise. I'll come find you after."

She nodded slowly, but she was crying. "Don't run away, Harry. Please don't run away. At least not from me."

He gave her fingers a soft kiss before releasing them. "I won't."

She nodded, and he left her. She would be okay for a few hours. She, too, was sad about this tragedy, and there would be some in the crowd who might need her comfort almost as much as Harry did. Harry was tired of wizards and funerals, and he needed to go away from it as far as he could for a while.

"Mr. Potter?"

He groaned aloud. He'd almost gotten away. He turned around, and his face softened only a little at seeing the twenty-something brunette again. She was here in a professional capacity, and he knew what she wanted.

"Miss Garnet. What can I do for you?"

She was standing there with a page to take notes on and a quill in her hand, and she'd obviously already taken down quite a few notes, judging by the slightly crumpled papers sticking out the pockets of her robes. She had to be the least organized reporter in the world, although that was one of the reasons Harry had liked her.

"I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions, but . . ." She shook her head, and her face had that look of sympathy she'd worn so often during their first interview. "Let's make a deal, Mr. Potter."

"Okay," he said warily.

"I will leave you alone, as I can see you need it. I will even cover your tracks so no one else will know you've gone for as long as I can. In return, I get an exclusive interview tomorrow."

"You'd really do that?"

"It will have more of an impact if I publish in two days," she said with a little shrug. "Everyone else will have their reports about the funeral tomorrow."

Harry couldn't conjure up a smile, but he tried. "You're not like any reporter I've ever met, Miss Garnet. And I really like having a friend in the press."

"So you'll do it?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to have the time or the inclination for a full interview tomorrow, but I will answer a couple of questions now. Make it quick, Miss Garnet."

Looking surprised, she turned to her notes and muttered to herself for a moment, then abruptly shoved them in her pocket. "I don't know why I write questions ahead of time," she confessed. "I always think of new ones once I get to start asking them."

Harry wished he had enough patience for her today, because he really did like having a friend in the press, but he had to get out of here. "If you have nothing for me . . ."

"I do. Would I be wasting my time to ask you what you know about Dumbledore's death?"

Harry gave her a cold look.

"Thought so. Okay, then, nothing about that. I do want to ask you about Dumbledore, though. I've heard several accounts that the two of you spent a lot of time together. Why?"

"I was there to learn," Harry said slowly. "And he wanted someone to teach."

"What did you learn about?"

"Some of everything. Albus Dumbledore had acquired more information and more wisdom over his life than I could ever hope to, and I was honoured that he chose to share any of it with me. We talked about politics, ethics, history, transfiguration theory, the culture of magical creatures . . . as I said, some of everything. He was a brilliant man, and I am a much better person for having known him."

"Tell me the thing you most admired about him, Harry."

Harry shook his head, stumped. Out of everything, what would he say? But he knew what he really missed about Dumbledore. "He had this ability, as everyone who's ever talked to him would tell you, of making people trust him. As soon as I met him, I wanted to learn this trick. There was something in the way he spoke to you that made you believe he respected you and appreciated you, so that you would feel comfortable and you would tell him anything. I always wanted to know how he pulled that off. It's only been since he died that I finally figured out his trick of making people believe he cared about them and valued their opinion."

He stopped, because he was realising the best thing about Dumbledore only now and it shamed him.

"What was it?" she prompted.

"There was no trick," Harry whispered. "He did." He started walking again. "Good luck with your article, Miss Garnet."

She let him go, probably happy enough that she was the only reporter he'd spoken to. Or, from the way she was standing there, maybe she was just as impressed by Harry's realization as he was.

Harry was relieved beyond words that there was no one near the lake that he needed to hide from. He and Reed had cultivated a tiny patch of gillyweed just a few feet from the shore's edge, by the tree where they used to meet, and Harry went there and downed a mouthful of the nasty stuff as quickly as possible. While he chewed, he took off his dark robes and set them in a fork of the tree's branches. He set his shoes atop the robes, swallowed the gillyweed, and dove into the lake.

It was a bright, sunny day on the surface, and the light managed to penetrate fairly deep. Harry didn't have his arm holster for his wand, so he simply carried it in one hand while he swam. The water was warm enough for the grindylows to be lively, and he'd rather not get attacked by them. He was a little worried about his reception at the bottom of the lake. This was the first time he'd shown up on his own, without invitation or appointment. The serious ways and commitment to tradition of the merfolk might mean he got sent on his way.

But Pesca saw him coming and had already fetched Reed by the time Harry arrived in the village.

"Harry," Reed said soberly. "We have heard of Dumbledore's death. We do not mourn the loss of this friend to our people, because he gifted us with another friend before he moved to the next world. Yet we will sing for a unique character who will no longer be shared with our people. Have you come to sing with us, Harry?"

He was safe here, among this tiny community that accepted him. And they were inviting him to express his grief, with no fear of creating the wrong public image. He could have kissed Reed.

"I have come to sing with you," Harry answered. "Though I do not know your song."

Reed smiled a bit, a brief flash of mossy teeth. "We have sung it together, Harry."

The only song Harry could remember singing down here was a beautiful little chant, almost a hymn, that was an expression of joy for their gifts of good water and bounty here in the lake, and their desire to pass the gifts to a new generation. He frowned questioningly.

"We do not mourn the dead, Harry. We invite them to sing their thanks with us, as they move ahead and leave the gifts of our people to the next generation."

So Harry joined them as they gathered in their meeting place, and as Reed invited whatever remained of Dumbledore's spirit to sing with them. Then he sang with them, expressing joy at their good life and his acceptance that someday he would pass this joy along and leave it behind for another. There were no reporters, and no one cried. Harry much preferred Dumbledore's second funeral.

* * *

The crowds had gone, although there were still a few mourners who had stayed to pay their last respects in privacy. It was beginning to get dark, and a grayness had fallen over the sky, and the day was becoming cool.

Neville was in a cold, dark place of his own, as the sky slowly changed to match it. He stood in front of the white tomb, numb with disbelief more than with grief. Albus had told him that he was ill and that he was getting old. He'd said that he didn't have much time left in the world. But he'd made Neville believe (or maybe Neville had chosen to believe) that this was still years away, not a mere few months.

It had come without warning. One day, Neville had his adopted grandfather in his life, there to listen to him or give him advice and to inspire him. The next day, he was not there. It was like waking up one morning and finding out your home had been robbed. That while you slept, someone had crept in and taken your most valuable possessions from your bedside table, right there by your head. Neville felt that sense of violation on top of his loss.

His problem was that he didn't know who the thief was. It might be Professor Snape, despite the mess caused by lack of evidence and his public denial of doing any such thing. Or it might have been some creeping illness who had stolen Albus from him. But the real feeling of violation came when he looked at Harry Potter. Because Harry knew something. He said he didn't, but he lied. People who didn't know him might not be able to tell, but Neville could tell that he lied.

He wasn't sure if he was angry with Harry. He wasn't quite sure of anything concerning his emotions, at the moment. As best he could tell, he didn't have any. He just felt so awfully cold and alone. Like he was floating in a strange cold pool, insulated from all attempts to reach him. Even the sounds of voices were oddly muffled and came to him from a greater distance than they should. He was alone, here in the cold place. He'd finally started calling the headmaster Albus because they needed something personal and calling him Grandpa wasn't right at all, and after such a brief time of sharing that new familial closeness, he was gone.

Neville leaned against the white stone. It was warm from soaking up the sun's rays, and Neville tried to let the warmth get into him, but it wouldn't come. At least not right away. But after a moment, it came to him from a new source. Fawkes came and alighted on his shoulder. The phoenix was not a true pet, and it did not allow itself to be pampered or stroked, but he settled on Neville shoulder and rubbed his head against Neville's cheek. He hooted softly.

Neville reached up and carefully put a hand on the bird's side, feeling the heavy weight of Fawkes' warm body and welcoming it. "He left you alone, too, didn't he?"

Phoenix tears could not heal all wounds, so the two of them sat without trying to heal anything for a few minutes. Then Neville heard footsteps approaching him. Thinking it would be one of the professors coming to tell him to go inside, he didn't look up. He wasn't ready to leave yet. Instead, someone sat down beside him, and he turned to see that it was Luna Lovegood.

"Hello, Luna," he said cautiously.

"Hello, Neville," she replied. She didn't say anything else.

"Did you want something?"

"I had come over to tell you something, actually."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"Well, it seems silly now. I came to tell you that the people we love never leave us, not entirely. But now you already know," she said, gesturing to Fawkes. "So I decided not to say anything. But I was already here, so I sat down. I thought you might like to sit by someone who wasn't going to bother you."

Neville made himself smile. "Thank you, Luna."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Neville didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable. He knew Luna well enough by now, after so long in the DL together, and for all his grief, he did appreciate her gesture. He hadn't thought he would have anybody to talk to, nobody who would understand what he was feeling—except maybe Harry, and Harry was obviously not planning on talking to him. But Neville found he didn't need someone who could understand, not really.

"I miss him already," Neville said softly.

"It will get better. It will take a long time, though."

Now Neville recalled that Luna had lost her mother when she was a child. Maybe she knew how he felt better than he'd thought.

"It's more than just how close we were," Neville said. "He was a good headmaster. I don't know who will take his place, but they won't do it like he did."

"That doesn't have to be a bad thing."

"Maybe not. But now we don't have a leader for this war."

Luna blinked at him, long pale lashes sweeping over her huge eyes and making her look strangely innocent. "We don't?"

"Not like him."

"But we have Harry, and we have you."

"I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived."

"But I thought you both were," she said, seeming to be genuinely confused.

Neville shook his head, ready to explain, then thought the better of it. If she didn't already know, he wasn't sure she ever would. He'd known she was odd, but he hadn't expected her to miss the point so completely.

"Is there some kind of rule that says you can't both be that?" Luna asked. "I thought you were both going to fight You-Know-Who."

"We are."

"Well, then," she said, as though she had made some point and was satisfied.

"But nobody is looking at me to be the leader now."

"That's not true," she said softly. "You're the leader of the DL. You aren't going to quit, are you? We still want you to be our leader."

Neville hadn't thought about that. "We're just students. How much of a difference are we going to make?"

"I don't know, of course. Would you like me to ask a Seer?"

Neville almost had to laugh, mostly because she seemed to be entirely serious. "No, I don't think they'd be able to tell us. But you're right, I guess. I do still have a lot to do. Who knows what the DL might be able to do? And our side needs everyone it can get, anyway. No, Luna, I'm not going to quit."

"Good," she said, and got to her feet. "You see? Dumbledore will never leave you entirely."

Neville watched her walk away, feeling amazed. He hadn't known she had so much depth behind all her eccentricities. It seemed like she'd come over here to give him some hope. Neville thought of his roommates and his fellow prefects, who had come to him throughout the day to offer him a brief word or embrace, and how nothing had made a difference, nothing had broken through the fog he was in. Luna had somehow done it.

He pulled something out of his pocket, something that never left his pocket no matter how many other items had gone missing from his person over the years. Pens, coins, trinkets—they all tended to disappear from his robes and trousers. But not this. He tapped his wand to the Galleon and set the time for the next meeting. Half an hour, and the DL would gather in the Room of Requirement. He had to speak to them.

He stood up, causing Fawkes to take flight briefly to avoid losing balance. The phoenix hooted questioningly.

"You don't have to stay," Neville said quietly. "I know you don't have a reason to anymore. I'll be okay without you."

Fawkes let loose a high, keening cry that made Neville's heart ache for something he couldn't explain. Then he was gone.

Neville hurried to the seventh floor. His friends were already arriving, looking confused, and Neville felt a burst of gratitude. He wasn't alone, not at all.

"Neville, what's going on?" Hannah asked him anxiously, grabbing hold of his arm.

"I'll tell you when everyone gets here."

"You've got us pretty worried, mate," Ron said, putting his arm protectively around Parvati, whose eyes were still red from crying.

"Hope you aren't going to do anything stupid," Ernie remarked. "I would hate to have to stop you."

Neville shook his head. "Nothing like that. Thanks for coming, guys."

"We knew it had to be important, for you to be calling a meeting right now."

They were good friends, all of them. Ginny and Dean were there in only moments, and Seamus arrived with all the younger students from Gryffindor after only a few minutes. Luna came in on her own, beaming a smile at Neville as though she were proud of him. Most of the Ravenclaw students showed up shortly thereafter. Cho was absent, but since Cedric Diggory had come to the funeral with her they didn't wonder where she was. Neville was amazed at how many members of the DL had come.

Hermione came in alone, and Neville hurried over to her before anyone else could.

"Is he coming?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "I'm not sure where he went."

Neville felt annoyed and angry with Harry again. He was acting like he'd lost more than Neville had, or something. He wasn't dealing with this very well, retreating more than ever and acting like things didn't still need to be done.

"Neville, we're all about to bloody lose our minds," Ginny said loudly.

The milling students immediately became quieter and looked at Neville.

"Okay. I just called you here to say one thing, that's all. I don't mean to waste your time or anything, but it needs to be said."

"We're all here, aren't we?" Seamus said. "Let's have it."

Neville took a deep breath. "We're getting very close to the end of the school year. I'm sure that this year will be finished as normally as possible, but I don't think any of us are expecting it to be the same next year. We're going to have a new headmaster. I don't know who that will be—maybe Professor McGonagall, but maybe not. We all know the Board of Directors is in Lucius Malfoy's pocket, so anything could happen. If that worries you, it's not because you're paranoid. It worries me, as well. The only thing we can know for certain is that Hogwarts will be different this autumn."

"We know that, Neville," Hannah said quietly.

He nodded. "So this is my point: we have to be ready for it. All of us. We need to stick together. We've been working together for this long already, and I don't want that to change. I know that not having Dumbledore is pretty scary, when we think about the war, and what the real goal of the DL has always been. But I say that means the DL is more important now than it ever was. We can't—" He was getting choked up. "We can't stop fighting." He paused, taking a deep breath.

Hannah put a hand on his shoulder. "We know that you and the headmaster were very close, Neville. No one is expecting you to be ready for this right now."

"Thanks," he whispered, but he stood up straight and addressed the group again. "What we've lost is more than just our headmaster, obviously. But we won't let that destroy what we've been working for. I don't know what the DL can do, but we're going to find out. Even if the resistance falls apart without Voldemort, even if the DL is all that's left, we're going to keep fighting. I, for one, will be here every week next year, preparing myself to do whatever is necessary to put a stop to You-Know-Who. Who is going to be here with me?"

Everyone stared at him.

"I will," said one voice, bold and loud. It was Kimberly Kearney. She took a step forward to look Neville in the eyes. She looked beautiful, standing there with her fists clenched and her face shining with determination, like some sort of warrior queen. Colin Creevey stepped up beside her, his cherubic blond curls glowing like a halo and making him look like an avenging angel-in-training rather than a child.

"And me."

The two of them smiled at one another and Colin put his hand around Kimberly's, and then suddenly the whole DL was clamouring their agreement and shouting that they would be here and that they would fight. Ernie and Ron and Ginny and Parvati and Hannah were standing around him, patting his shoulders and pledging their support. There were people thumping their comrades on the back, and gripping their wands, and the power of the feelings in the room was so thick that it set Neville's heart to pounding.

Then Hermione slipped in close to him. While everyone was shouting, she put her face close to his and whispered.

"I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if Harry or I will be here for the DL. But I know that Dumbledore would be proud of you if he could see you now. Don't give up, Neville."

She slipped away from him. Neville didn't see her leave, but he didn't see her at all after that, so he supposed she must have left to find Harry. He was a little bit lost at the idea. Harry provided so much strength to their group with his own hard work and with his ideals, while Hermione was their most brilliant witch and the one who could find the answer when no one else could. Neville didn't know how to fill in that gap, so he could only hope that they would still be around.

* * *

"The confusion you have created suits me perfectly."

The silken voice came to him from far away, and the split second it took him to respond could get him killed. He had to focus.

"I had hoped you would be pleased, my lord," he answered. His face was implacable, with only a small, humble smile to the dark-robed figure seated across from him.

"You have given us many more options than I had planned for," the Dark Lord continued, his eyes displaying a mad glee. "Our attempts to gain control in the Ministry are not going as well as I had hoped, so I would not have been able to cover up your murder if you had been more obvious."

He bowed his head. "I have tried my best to ensure that it cannot be proven. I have given you my wand to ensure that it does not fall to those who would use it to discover the murder."

The long, bony fingers stroked that wand, which sat on the table beside him. He had taken great pleasure in causing the wand to reveal its last spell over and over, watching Dumbledore die as many times as he wished. Severus had acquired a second wand over a year ago and used it in his classroom and brewing experiments many times so that he had one to present to the Ministry. He would be using that one from now on, but he missed the one the Dark Lord held. It was his true wand.

"You have done me a great service," the Dark Lord smiled. "I will not forget your loyalty to me."

"You are generous, my lord," he murmured.

"I know that you must go, to cover your tracks, but first I will tell you my plan."

"Yes, master."

"You will replace him."

"Whom?"

"Do not pretend ignorance, Severus, it does not become you. You will be headmaster of Hogwarts next term."

"Do you believe we have the power for that already?"

The Dark Lord smiled again, his little burst of temper already forgotten. "The school's board of directors will do as I wish them to do, and I wish them to place you in that role. Under your guidance, the school will become what it should be. We will eradicate the Mudblood vermin that currently scurry in its halls, and make it pure. You will do this for me, Severus."

"I will be proud to serve you, master. I am eager to begin."

"I know you are," he nearly purred. "Now go. You have work to do to ensure that your peers cannot try to take your place, and I know that you must take steps toward pretending that you had nothing to do with the death of Albus Dumbledore. I know you are anxious to help Lucius locate his family, but rest assured that we are giving proper attention to that."

"Of course. You have only to tell me if help is needed and I will be glad to give it my attention. Until then, I have other work to attend in your service."

"Then you are dismissed."

"Thank you, my lord."

He left quickly. It did not do to linger in the Dark Lord's presence, not even for those who served him. Bellatrix Lestrange was the only person he knew who truly relished the company. Everyone served him and his ideals, but Severus could easily pick out in their minds their moments of distaste for their master. He pointed it out when it would bring him more favour and kept silent when it would not. He was a good servant to the Dark Lord, and he could only become a better servant from now on. It was as Dumbledore had said—he had taken the final step in their plan. Dumbledore was gone and his own loyalty was demanded by only one master now. Yet it was, if anything, even more difficult now. He did not have Dumbledore to remind him of his true path. He would have to remember it on his own.

Of course, it was hard to forget that the person he currently served had killed the only woman he had ever loved. And that the same person had demanded he kill the only man who had ever believed in him. He burned with the desire to have his vengeance for that. But it would have to wait, for a while. He would know when it was time. Dumbledore had been very clear. Harry Potter was the one who would tell him when it was time.

He had just begun the darkest part of his life, and he found himself lacking the belief that he would see the end of it. He could recite his plan, but somehow he didn't know what would happen. It was time to give up hope, he admitted, if he'd ever had any to begin with. He had nothing left to hope for, except his revenge. Potter had better do his part quickly. Severus was ready for this to be over. He wanted to end this, and he wanted to leave. Once this was over, he would never come back.


	12. Chapter 12

**_A/N:_**_ Er, yeah, so I've had it pointed out to me that naming the teenaged werewolf Jake was possibly not the brightest idea I've ever had . . . totally never would have made the Twilight connexion on my own, but now that it's in my head, it makes me cringe. Therefore, Remus' roommate has been rechristened Simon. I had to edit chapter 9 to replace the name, so let's just pretend it's been Simon all along, shall we?_

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Chapter Twelve

"Thanks for coming."

The anxious young man let out a breathy laugh of disbelief. "Am I supposed to believe that I had a choice of some kind?"

Harry gave Draco an impassable face, to indicate that he did not have the time or energy for a tiff. It must have gone awry somewhere between his intention and Draco's understanding, because his sharp features went pale and he shut his mouth. Apparently, Harry had finally managed to intimidate the little git.

"Let's get one thing straight from the beginning," Harry said, eager to get this meeting he'd requested out of the way. "You came to us for help. Which, strangely enough, seems to indicate you _did_ make a choice."

Draco leaned back in his chair, posturing himself into an elegant sprawl, and looked up as though supplicating some deity to spare him from this.

"I'm regretting it more with every passing minute," he said to the ceiling of Grimmauld Place's parlour. "Potter, would you care to explain why on earth I'm here?"

"Don't act as if you don't know," Harry said harshly. "It's been a week already, and I need to get things settled with you."

"Fine. You can start by telling me what you know about Dumbledore."

The lazy drawl of his voice was nothing short of infuriating, but Harry's temper was carefully in check. His emotions still seemed to spiral out of control at a moment's notice, so he was watching himself. (He was beginning to get the feeling that his struggle for control was actually a connection to Voldemort, who was absolutely giddy about Dumbledore's death and the fact that Fudge was going to be stepping down from the role of Minister in a matter of days.)

"It is as I've already told you, and as I've already told the entire world. I went up to his office to speak with him, and all I found was his body, in his chair, at his desk. I don't know anything more than that."

"Which you have not yet proven with Veritaserum," Draco noted.

"Which is because I am not a suspect and they didn't ask me to," Harry said reasonably, as if to say he would certainly submit to Veritaserum if it was suggested. As if to say that the very notion didn't make his heart race. "And I've had enough of this. You are not in a position to negotiate, if you hadn't noticed."

Draco remained in his sprawl and his face continued to reflect simple boredom, but Harry could sense the speeding up of his thoughts that indicated he'd touched a nerve. "I repeat, Potter, why am I here?"

"To tell me why."

"Why what, exactly?"

"Why you chose to come to our side for help. Why you willingly chose exile and hiding for yourself and your mother. What made you reveal the weak point in our security so it could be dealt with. I need to know why."

"I was raised to have impeccable manners," Draco said slowly.

Harry snorted.

"But somehow the only response that seems appropriate, despite all the polite phrases in my repertoire, is: go fuck yourself, Potter."

Harry didn't allow himself even the hint of impatience. "As I said, Draco, you are not in a position of power. I don't have the time or inclination to be worried about you and what your plans are or to try to keep you in plain sight all the time. So you are going to tell me what I want to know."

Draco sighed, with what seemed like real regret. "I knew you'd make me. I've been thinking about what I would say all week."

He sat up straighter, but he didn't look at Harry once during what followed.

"When you spend your entire life among cruel, grasping people, and people who are truly insane, it can be hard to understand that some people are not like that. I have always thought that my family—that is, the parts of it that I knew—was comprised of greedy, prideful, and slightly mad people, and the only thing that kept my world from chaos was the allegiance they owed to a person more cruel, more prideful, and more insane than they. Nothing was important except being successful, and being a valued servant of the Dark Lord was the best kind of success, apart from money."

Harry tried not to throw up, and tried to get it. He'd asked for this, but he'd never thought it would actually happen. Draco was talking to him about something that Harry had hoped would come up between them over a year ago, when it would have done some good instead of being part of damage control. He had to listen to this. The worst part was, he was beginning to see that Draco had done the most good he had known it was possible for him to do, in his way. But he doubted Draco saw it quite yet.

"So that was my life. I believed all of it, Potter. Everything they've ever told me about blood status, money, the greatness of the Dark Lord . . . I was a believer. But my father taught me too well about being selfish, and I don't have the ability to show devotion to anyone at the expense of myself. At least, I don't think I do. Unless that's what I'm doing now."

The confusion in the other boy's voice was real, but Harry wasn't entirely buying what Draco was selling right now. There was one thing he wanted Draco to say, and it seemed more and more like Draco was going to dance around it and refuse to admit that he and Harry could ever be on the same side or believe any of the same things.

"So I . . . was concerned for my own well-being, more than that of the Dark Lord's. I don't suppose I can explain to you what a crime that is, for a person who . . . who . . ." Draco couldn't finish the sentence, but he was clutching at his arm and Harry knew what was hidden under the sleeve of his robe. "It's unforgiveable, and I couldn't hide how much I resented being a pawn much longer. I would have been killed simply because I wanted to be successful. My father never really told me that success has a limit, I guess because the Dark Lord wasn't in power when he was raising me. So I've been forced to leave, because I won't be a servant any longer. I know they will kill me if they find me, for daring to think I'm important."

Draco gave him a sickly smile, to indicate that he was finished.

Harry let out a derisive little chuckle. "Bollocks."

Draco was entirely affronted, and looked ready to jump up and lay into Harry.

Harry leaned back in his chair, affecting an attitude similar to the one Draco had pulled when he came in. The only threat Draco could possibly pose to him was his status as a loose cannon, and Harry was resolving that right now, and he wanted Draco to know just how far his star had fallen. He needed to know that, if he was ever going to start crawling back up again.

"You can't expect to feed me that crap story and have me believe it."

Draco did stand up, hands clenched. "Well, what do you want me to say, Potter? You asked why I was here, and I told you!"

Harry gazed at him with patience, waiting for him to subside. "You told me a lie, actually. What you just said makes no sense in the context of your actions. I would like to think you know I'm smarter than that."

"Of course it makes sense, because that's what I did!" Draco shouted, his face turning red.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay. You want money and success and more favour than you were getting from Voldemort? The way to get it was to make him happy. You make him happy by completing the task he gave you, and getting him into the school. You claim to be selfish, but you didn't want to go to safety without your mother. You've actually given up your information to strengthen Hogwarts defenses against your purported master, and you've divided your family in two in such a way that you stand to lose all the money and influence that came from being part of it. Don't try to tell me you've done this because you're a selfish bastard looking out for yourself, because it's a lie."

Draco suddenly deflated. He sat back down, and he lost all his ire. "Then why did I do it? Tell me that, Potter. Because I honestly don't know."

"Just think about it, Draco. For just a minute, think about why you didn't let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

Draco was pale and miserable. "Because then it would be my fault," he said quietly. "When Greyback starts eating children right in front of me, I can't blame anyone but me. I knew I would never be anything but a pawn to him, and I wanted out, but . . . I was being honest. My father never taught me any morals that weren't tied up in my own self-interest or those of my family. But somewhere along the way I figured out it was wrong to take part in killing my own classmates, and somehow, it became more important not to do that wrong than to look after myself. So I came to Dumbledore, because he was a sap who'd take care of me just because I— well, for helping him."

"Say it, Draco. Out loud, tell me what it was you did."

Draco was disgusted. "Why?"

"Say it."

"I did the right thing," Draco muttered. He gave Harry a hard, angry look that was full of accusations, but it hardly seemed like he knew what he was accusing Harry of. "I did the bloody right thing, and I knew that Dumbledore would help me out for doing it. That's just about the only thing your side has got going for it, you know. They take care of each other."

"And now we're taking care of you," Harry said quietly. "You didn't even have to be one of us. You just had to ask."  
Draco slumped back in his chair, but it was no pose this time, it was weariness and confusion. "Which makes no sense whatsoever. I can't imagine how you think you could win when you operate like that."

"But you're here."

"I know I am. But I still don't think I know why."

"It's something you figure out as you go along," Harry said gently. "Took me a while to decide to be here, too."

Draco looked revolted by the comparison. "I am nothing like you, Potter."

"I came here and asked for protection while I figured out what I wanted. Because I had made a choice to do the right thing and save some innocent lives at cost to myself."

"But you act like you always knew it was right."

Harry shrugged. "Sirius didn't teach me about success. He taught me about knowing who I was. And I knew that I was a person who did the right thing, whatever the price. It cost me everything I wanted, you know. When I was twelve, Sirius and I had a real home and real family, and we were happier than we'd ever been or have been since. I had a girlfriend two years ago that I think I would have been really happy with if we'd gotten to stay together. But people were going to be hurt and killed while I was in a far-off place being happy, and I couldn't live with that. Some part of myself that I didn't know I had in me told me that I couldn't live with that. So I made myself into a fighter through a lot of blood and sweat, and I left behind my home and family, and I came here against my will, to do battle with someone who is way stronger than I'm going to be for a long time."

Draco just stared at him. This was the last thing either of them had expected to be doing.

"I don't believe it had to be me," Harry said. "I don't believe I'm special at all. But Voldemort got that idea in his head, so I've been forced to react to that. I've spent the past two years trying to figure out why I'm really here, and why I'm really fighting. It doesn't just come to you one day, out of the blue. You start with one right decision, and you work at it. It helps, when the people around you are doing the same thing. And the rewards . . . I never would have imagined what I'd get in return. I got Hermione."

"I am not on your side, Potter," Draco said softly. "I refuse to fight for the rights of Mudbloods and traitors. I'm only here because I won't be responsible for the destruction of Hogwarts."

"At least you don't have to see your Aunt Bellatrix anymore."

Draco shuddered. "I suppose I should have known that my mother's family wouldn't all be like her, but it surprised me, anyway."

Harry, who had only met Andromeda Tonks once so far and found her to be rather stern (although that might have just been her reaction to the news that her long-estranged sister and nephew were going to be sleeping in her daughter's old room and a bunch of Death Eaters were going to be looking for them). Still, she was a sight better than Bellatrix Lestrange.

"How are things over there?" Harry asked as casually as possible.

"I suppose it's quite splendid, for a prison."

Harry frowned.

"Oh, please, Potter. You don't think I'm stupid, or that my mother is stupid? We are well aware that you deliberately placed us where no one would look for us, and no one has been exactly shy about telling us we're not allowed to leave. What on earth does my father think has happened, anyway? Where are they looking? You must know something."

Harry shrugged. "Well. We let word get to the Death Eaters, and only them, mind you, that our side had something to do with your disappearance."

Draco looked at him blankly.

"That we used you as bait because you were easy to grab, and that you and your mother are dead as retaliation for Dumbledore," Harry clarified. "Not sure if they believe it. But they do know that even if you are alive, they won't get to you until they get to us. And so far, they haven't been able to do much to us. Only to innocent people who didn't see them coming."

Harry tried not to sound smug about the lack of casualties among the Order. It wouldn't last forever, and he knew that. But they were holding out, and they were still strong. Even with Dumbledore, their true leader, gone, the Order was still there and still fighting.

"So, now I know," Harry said, standing.

"Know what?"

"That you can't go back to their side, because you've finally realised that you are not an evil person. You tried so hard to be cruel and cold, but even you have your limits. You've figured that out, so I don't have to worry about you anymore. I'm not asking you to join our side, Draco. I'm not that foolish. But I won't have to watch you night and day, either. Don't think of where you are as a prison. It's exactly what you asked for. It's a safe house. And you'd better not take for granted how hard it is for the Tonks to take you in."

Draco's face was going red again, but Harry was strolling out. "I have some tricky potions experiments to work on," he announced. "Sirius can take you back to the Tonks's." Wolfsbane was a never-ending process, since he was brewing it for seventeen freaking werewolves, even if Sirius was doing some of the work. At least nine of them had jobs now, and they were contributing almost enough money for the supplies. Harry and Sirius weren't exactly getting paid for their work, but Harry found the bridge he was building to be far more important than money.

He had sort of forgotten how ill and exhausted Draco had become over this past year, but he certainly noticed when Draco transformed at the mention of potions experiments. The boy lit up like a kid on his birthday, and some of the pallor fell away from his face.

Oh, yeah. He'd sort of forgotten about how boring it would be to be stuck at your aunt's house when you hated her husband and had to cope with a decades-old feud—indefinitely.

"Come on," Harry said casually. "Just because you aren't on my side doesn't mean I won't put you to work." Inside, he was practically dancing with glee. Draco was probably the only person he knew with both the Potions skill and an inclination toward brewing that were necessary for this work—and the free time on his hands. If Draco proved capable and willing, it would be like Christmas come early.

"You cannot force me to work for you," Draco said primly. As he followed right at Harry's heels.

* * *

One week later, Harry was brushing a bit of plaster dust off his hands and feeling satisfied. They'd taken out the wall separating the two spare rooms in the house and converted it into a Potions laboratory. Using one spare room just wasn't enough anymore, especially since they now had someone who was interested in brewing all manner of healing potions and other things that would be useful to the Order of the Phoenix. Draco was no master brewer, but you didn't have to be as brilliant as Snape to make a Blood-Replenishing potion. Harry had shared a classroom with Draco for two years and trusted his skill well enough, although he still planned to personally be involved in the final stages of the werewolf's medication. That was too tricky and too important to trust to Draco Malfoy.

"Don't look smug, Potter," Draco said, sitting primly on a stool that he'd brushed free of dust with a clean handkerchief. "You have your end of the bargain to live up to, as well."

Harry took out his wand and began to assemble the furniture that was stacked in pieces in a corner of the newly designed room. "I haven't failed to live up to a promise yet," he said without concern.

"There's always a first time," Draco muttered, leaning over the small cauldron that was fuming greenish smoke into his face, his nose twitching as he picked out the smells and giving him the most unfortunate resemblance to a rodent. "Be my luck if it was me you let down."

Harry wasn't worried, because his end of the bargain was perfectly simple. When the war was over and Draco could come out of hiding, Harry was his character and job reference. He would have spent no small amount of time working for Harry, so Harry supposed it would have been only fair, anyway. And since he'd be hiding with his family instead of spending his seventh year at Hogwarts, he would desperately need the reference (assuming, of course, that his father didn't get killed by the Order and the Malfoy estate didn't automatically revert to Draco and leave him filthy rich).

"Mine is easy," Harry said, levitating a set of shelves up and Permanently Sticking them to the walls. "I just have to live through the war. You, however, have to brew acceptable potions of several varieties and fight your daily inclination to poison us all."

Draco was stirring his cauldron with steady hands, but he was pale and worried. "I don't lack motivation, Potter. You realise that I now have a personal interest in seeing your side win?"

"What's that?"

"If the Dark Lord is victorious, he will kill me and my mother," Draco said, in his most lazy, drawling voice. He didn't even bother looking up. "So it would really be to my benefit to do this job well, wouldn't it?"

Harry's mind briefly passed over Draco's. The outer calm was a truly impressive feat of control. Because inside, Draco was trembling and terrified. His revulsion over letting the Death Eaters into the school, and the mental and moral strength he'd marshaled to decide not to, had left him with no choice but to throw himself on the mercy of the Order of the Phoenix. Not a good place to be, for someone with a Dark Mark on his arm. He couldn't know that someone else had done the same, years before, and had been treated as well as expected. He didn't know whose side Professor Snape was on.

"Well, then," Harry said, setting the last little table in place. "I'll leave you to it, and I'll go study. I have exams next week."

Draco finally looked up from his cauldron. "Didn't Professor Black tell you? I'm taking them, as well."

"You are?"

"Apparently he and Professor McGonagall are the only ones who will know about it, which is the only reason I agreed, but they will administer the exams to me and record my scores. Professor McGonagall is still acting Headmistress, so no one else need know."

"Well, that's excellent," Harry said. "You won't have wasted this whole year of school."

"Precisely, Potter. It _is_ amazing what your mind can do when properly applied."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What about your NEWT year, though?"

"We haven't really come up with a solution to that, yet," Draco admitted, turning back to his potion and giving it a vicious stirring.

Harry shrugged. "Don't feel too bad. I haven't come up with a solution for mine yet, either."

Draco was startled by that. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Haven't really decided yet."

Draco was ready to ask a few more questions, but there was a voice downstairs calling out, "Hello?"

"Remus?" Harry muttered, confused, and left Draco there to hurry downstairs. "Hey, Remus, is that you?"

"Oh, Harry," the werewolf's voice floated from the hall. "Sirius here?"

"No, he had to oversee a couple of detentions today," Harry answered, and finally met up with Remus at the foot of the stairs. "It's good to see you," he said, embracing the man. "Tonks isn't with you?"

"She was last night,"—_great Merlin, he __still__ blushes when he says that_— "but she had to go in for some kind of emergency at work."

"Well, come on," Harry said, leading the way toward the kitchen. "I'll get you a cup of tea. Hungry?"

"No, not really. Kreacher isn't making tea?"

Harry pulled a face. "I thought Tonks would have told you. He's sort of on loan to her parents right now."

"On loan?" Remus repeated in an unhappy tone.

"Oh, fine, we politely asked him and he politely agreed," Harry corrected himself. "Either way, he's staying with the Tonks family to help alleviate the burden of having the Malfoys there. He's happy as a niffler with a pile of Galleons, waiting hand and foot on the most noble mistresses of the Black family." He raised his voice, knowing Draco was listening from the top of the stairs. "And the mistress's ferrety little brat!"

Then he cast a Muffliato charm on the kitchen.

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Take it someone else is here?"

"Draco," Harry muttered, still not entirely sure how he felt about this whole situation. Here he was, giving Draco another chance, just like he'd decided he wasn't going to do, and feeling satisfied because Draco was taking to it like a duck to water. For Merlin's sake, maybe Draco had a point about their side being pushovers. "You really need to get over here more often so the information moves more quickly," he chided Remus. "The Order has agreed to let him work as a potions supplier for us just to give him something to do. And speaking of people who are happy as nifflers . . ."

Remus gave him a wide-eyed look. "You trust him with that?"

Harry shrugged. "He did tell us about the twin cabinets. And Tonks's mum caught him trying to slice off the skin on his left arm with a kitchen knife a few days ago."

Remus winced.

"Of course, it was a mark in his favour that he managed to whip himself up a healing poultice after she interrupted him."

Remus shrugged. "I suppose he must be competent, especially if he's qualified to take NEWT level potions from Severus."

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm going to have him help with the Wolfsbane treatments."

Remus scowled. "Harry, those are—"

"He will do it well, Remus," Harry interrupted firmly. "He doesn't have a choice anymore. He needs us more than we need him, and he's counting on my personal reference to survive once he can come out of hiding. He is going to do whatever pleases me."

"Harry," Remus said, using his best reasonable-but-firm voice, making Harry feel that he should politely listen, "I have asked my community to trust you with this, and you have made a real difference in their lives. However, asking them to trust a known Death Eater who has a history of changing loyalties is a different matter. It is not fair to give them such a gift and then, in essence, take it away by passing the responsibility to someone like Draco Malfoy."

Harry knew better than to suggest that Remus not tell them about the change in staffing in their impromptu Potions laboratory. He had too much respect for them to do that. "Do you trust me, Remus?"

Remus opened and closed his mouth, and looked angry.

"Well?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Then you can trust me to choose someone to help me work," Harry said simply. "It's too much for me to do on my own."

"Okay, I understand that, but—"

"Draco is the only person I know who has the predilection for it, intelligence for it, and the time for it. Hermione could help, but she doesn't really like Potions and she already has enough to do. It's like I said: Draco is going to do what pleases me. He doesn't have much of a choice."

Remus looked awfully sad, at that. "All he's really done is exchange one master for another, then."

Harry froze. He felt exactly like he had the first time Miguel had launched a surprise attack and punched him in the stomach while he was clearing the breakfast dishes from the table. Stunned, breathless, almost as emotionally bruised as he had been physically. You didn't just turn around and slug a part of your own family right after you'd eaten scrambled eggs together.

Harry staggered up from the table, breaking the wards he'd had on the kitchen as he passed through them and marched upstairs.

"Draco," he said, standing in the doorway.

Draco had begun his painstaking project of organizing his supplies by applying coloured labels according to the type of ingredient and then placing the bottles on the newly installed shelves. He looked perfectly happy. His face sunk into a frown as he took in Harry.

"What did the werewolf do to you?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not making you do this."

Draco raised and eyebrow and set the bottle he was holding down on one of the tables. "I am not much in the mood for a game, Potter. If we must have another conversation in which you try to convince me that I am doing this simply out of the goodness of my heart, can it at least wait until I finish with this box?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm really not making you do this. I don't own you or your mother. You asked me for help, I gave you help, and I'm not asking you for anything in return. You don't work for me. I'll give you whatever you need after the war's over, either way. Just so you know that. You don't have to do this. Not to impress me, anyway."

Draco stared at him, looked down at the boxes stacked at his feet that were still waiting for his organizational touch, and back up at Harry. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter, what else would I do all day?" he muttered, and went back to his work.

Feeling a bit more absolved, Harry went back downstairs. Remus was still in the kitchen, nursing the remnants of his tea, with a look of guilt on his face.

"I didn't mean to make it sound like that, Harry," he said quietly.

Harry shrugged. "We've worked it out, so it's fine."

Remus frowned. "You don't mean he's actually volunteering for this?"

"He's been in hiding for a couple of weeks, and he's already bored out of his mind," Harry shrugged. "He has to do something."

Remus sighed. "I suppose you have your reasons for letting him do this."

Harry sighed back. "Thanks, Remus."

He got up and made himself a cup of tea. He debated making one for Draco, then dismissed the idea. If he wanted one, he could damn well make his own. High time he learned how.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked as he poured.

"It's about Simon," Remus said reluctantly. "Cheers," he added when Harry refilled his cup.

"What about him?"

"He's thirteen, Harry."

"I know."

"He shouldn't be with us. I wanted him to go to Hogwarts in the autumn, but I don't think that's likely to happen. I don't know who will be running the school, but I'm sure it won't be McGonagall."

"He _should_ be with you," Harry argued. "You've all but adopted him."

"More like having a very resentful stepson," Remus said mildly. "At least he loves Dora. Anyway, it's not that, I don't _mind_ having him with us. But it's not safe anymore."

"When was it ever?"

"Point," Remus agreed. "But I think we both know that it's about to get worse, much worse. And he's just a kid. He shouldn't be involved in the fighting. I want to get him out of there."

"If he can't go to Hogwarts . . ."

"I was hoping he could come here," Remus answered.

Harry thought of Draco, working upstairs, of the amount of time Remus had lived here, and then thought about having Simon stay in the room Remus used to live in. He snorted.

"Bloody halfway house we're running here," he muttered. "Of course he can stay here, assuming he and Sirius don't kill each other. Sirius doesn't like teenagers with bad attitudes. He likes to beat it out of them."

Remus shrugged. "He's a scrawny kid. Might benefit from a little time in the training room."

"You still practicing?" Harry asked.

Remus shrugged. "As much as it's possible to do by oneself," he said dryly, then slapped his firm abdominals. "Got to stay in shape for Dora's sake, don't I?"

Harry grinned. "Sirius wouldn't stop complaining yesterday about dear cousin Andy, and how she'd never been so girly that he could remember. Apparently she's got weddings on the brain."

Remus blushed right to the roots of his hair.

"Aw, come on, Remus," Harry cajoled. "She's been practically living in your compound for months. You think we didn't notice?"

His hands tightened on the cup in front of him. "It's not . . . good for her," he said, struggling to get the words out. "I mean, we're doing our best on the legal front, and Madam Bones being the popular candidate for Minister is great news, but . . . I don't know why she spends so much time with us. We take the potions, but that doesn't make us safe."

Harry just crossed his arms and glared at Remus. "It's a little late for that, don't you think? I mean, at some point you've got to stop with all this nonsense about not being good enough and wake up and realise you've been happily shagging for months and nothing bad has happened yet. She knows the risks and apparently thinks you're worth it. Little harsh on her to think she has such terrible judgement, isn't it?"

Remus took his cup over to the sink and rinsed it out. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you," he muttered. "It's like talking to Sirius all over again."

Harry thought his chest might explode with pride at the very idea. If all he accomplished in life was to be like his godfather, he'd be okay with that. He'd rather accomplish a great deal more, of course.

"Remus, I swear that if you don't ask her to marry you by the end of the summer, I will," Harry said severely.

Remus blinked at him.

"What? She's bloody gorgeous, isn't she? Smart, funny—she's got it all."

For a minute, Harry thought Remus was going to attack him. Instead, he just dried his cup and put it back in the cupboard, muttering, ". . . like he's channeling the bloody man . . ."

Harry got up to rinse out his own cup and gave Remus a poke in the ribs. "Just go with it and try to be worthy of her," he said. "It's what I'm doing."

"With Hermione?"

Harry nodded. "We're not quite at the stage you're at, yet, of course, but I think we might be before too long."

"You are far too young to think about marriage," Remus said with complete conviction.

"I'm turning seventeen in a month."

Remus blinked. "Merlin, I'm bloody old," he remarked, then strolled out into the hallway. "I should get going. Talk to Sirius tonight, would you, about Simon? Have him get in touch with me if it's all right with him."

Harry gave him a look. "As if it wouldn't be. I'll tell him when he gets here, but go ahead and have Simon pack up his stuff. He can move in tomorrow."

There was a thump upstairs, Draco moving something heavy, and Harry winced. "Boy, it'll be fun having those two under the same roof," he said brightly. "Barrel of laughs every day, I'm sure of it."

Remus winced, too. "Maybe we can convince Simon not to go into those rooms."

He and Harry looked at one another for a beat of silence.

"Maybe you'd better give Sirius a couple of days to get used to the idea," Harry finally said.

* * *

One week later, Harry and Hermione were cuddled up together on Harry's bed at home in Grimmauld Place. Their exams were over and they were both confident that they'd done well. They'd cast several spells on the door to be sure that they wouldn't have to hear anything going on in the rest of the house. Sirius and Simon were butting heads about twelve times a day, and Simon and Draco had become bitter enemies within five minutes of their first meeting. Luckily that hadn't been until two days after Simon moved in, because Harry doubted the boy would have stayed unless he'd already arranged all his stuff. Draco had taken particular relish in coming up with new synonyms for the word "freak."

Harry sighed with contentment and nuzzled his face against Hermione's neck, losing himself in the flowery scent of her hair. "Glad I don't have to worry about homework for a while."

Hermione made a soft noise. "I know better than to think you won't do any studies on your own this summer. And NEWT year is a killer, you saw how all the seventh-years looked these past few weeks."

Harry made a soft noise of his own.

Hermione shifted, raising herself up so she could look him in the face. "What is it?"

His face said it all.

"Oh, Harry, you can't leave now," she said in dismay. "You know how hard it is to get a career without any kind of educational certification."

"I'm not really worried about that right now," he said frankly. "With Dumbledore gone, that school is not going to be safe for me anymore. And I have a job to do."

"A job that Dumbledore forced on you by making it such a big secret," Hermione said fiercely.

Harry gave her a placid look. "I didn't have to take it. But I did. You know how important the secrecy is. Honestly, I wish I hadn't told Sirius, just because having the knowledge is dangerous, whether he uses it or not."

"Which is why you won't tell me what you know about what happened to Dumbledore," she said, still looking unhappy.

Harry nodded. "I would if I thought I could," he murmured, and pulled her back down to lay next to him. "But you have to at least let me maintain the illusion that I'm doing something to keep you safe."

Hermione wasn't thrilled, to say the least, but she didn't argue. She understood.

"So many secrets," she sighed. "Speaking of which, did you ask Sirius about the Secret-Keeper?"

"Yeah. He's told the Order that the new Secret-Keeper is already in place and refused to reveal their identity."

"But it's not true?"

"Apparently not. He wouldn't tell me what was going on, though. He just said the person he wanted for the job wasn't ready yet. He won't tell me who it is or anything. Weird, right?"

"Very," she agreed. "But Sirius knows what he's doing."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. He buried himself in her hair again. "Hermione? I'm so glad that we can do this now. That you're not so afraid, I mean."

Hermione clutched his hand. "I am, sometimes. A little. The amount of time that's passed has done a lot toward getting rid of the fear, but mostly it was just that I made the decision that I didn't want to be afraid anymore. I knew Jonathan was no threat, but I was never all that attracted to him, anyway. But the relationship was good for me. It was . . . it seemed like I was in charge. That helped. But being with you . . . it's scary in a different way. Just because it's unpredictable. I'm not afraid of you, I trust you more than anyone in the world. And I've come a long way, too. But can you be patient with me, when I do get scared?"

Harry's fingers tightened over hers. "Of course I can. This is good, right here."

"For now."

"Well, I haven't had sex in a year and I might go mad, but yeah. This is good for now."

She kissed his knuckles. "Thank you."

"Hermione?" he murmured.

"What?"

"I just finished the most grueling school year of my life, and we're already just laying in my bed here . . . can we take a nap?"

She chuckled softly. "I was about to ask the same thing."

They slept.

* * *

He woke slowly, smelling ink and flowers and feeling safe and comfortable. He smiled. He'd enjoyed the sensation of waking up beside a girl before, another girl who was curvier and blonde and whose hair smelled of coconuts and her bed of sex. But this was different. This was the same feeling of warmth and delight, but stronger, and he hadn't even needed to have sex with the girl. That was how much he loved Hermione. He'd been wondering (although never admitting it, not even to himself) if he was capable of that kind of love. It appeared that he was.

She was looking at him, her back propped against the headboard. She'd been awake for a while.

"Hi," he said, groggy and making no effort to wake up any faster than his body wanted to.

"You're beautiful when you sleep," she whispered. But she was frowning.

"What's wrong?" he said, more alert instantly.

"Shhh," she said, laying a hand on his chest and pressing him down. "Nothing. You were talking in your sleep."

Heart thudding, he tried to remember having a conversation with Voldemort, but he was quite sure that he hadn't. Must have just been a normal dream, then.

"What did I say?" he asked with a lazy smile.

She didn't smile back. "You were very upset."

"I was?"

"You kept saying you weren't going to be a lord. You kept saying you were going to put the wand away forever when you were finished. And that you didn't have servants."

"Oh," he muttered, and turned his face away from hers. He didn't know he'd been talking out loud in his dreams. Good thing he'd never gotten out of the habit of casting a spell around his bed in the dormitory, or his Gryffindor roommates would be seriously creeped out.

"Harry," Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't help what I say in my sleep," he said grumpily.

She leaned down and kissed his shoulder. "I know." She pointed to the wand he'd left on his nightstand. "That's your normal one, isn't it?"

"Yes," he answered. "I've got the other one hidden for now."

Hermione slid down in the bed and snuggled against his back. Now that he was awake, that wasn't such a sleepy, comfortable pose. Good thing he was the one with his back turned to her. "It's going to be okay."

He grunted in disagreement. There wasn't much that was going to be okay, not for a long time.

"You're a good man."

"Not yet," he said wryly. "I'm still a minor."

She pinched the skin on his side, which made him yelp but also made him more glad that he was facing away from her. "Don't make light of my opinion of you. You should listen to me."

"Thank you," he said simply.

She relaxed against him a bit and murmured something about taking another nap, her breath tickling against his neck. He scrambled off the bed.

"Go ahead and sleep," he said cheerfully. "I'm starving, I'm going to go fix something to eat. You want me to save something for when you wake up?"

She had an amused expression, almost cat-like on her face. Well, he supposed it _was_ kind of obvious what his problem was. "Sure," she said simply.

"Are your folks going to be worried about how long it's taking you to get home?" he queried.

She shook her head. "They know I'm with you."

Harry laughed. "And they have such a high opinion of me?"

"No, of me," she retorted. Then her face closed down. "That's likely to change soon."

"What? Why?"

"Nothing, never mind," she said. "Go get some food. I'm just going to sleep awhile longer."

Harry frowned at her but did as she said. He met Simon in the kitchen, where he was, as usual, scarfing down anything in sight.

"I was hoping to get away from all the lovey-dovey stuff when I came here," he said without preamble.

"I was going to say, 'Hi, Simon, how are you?' but since the obvious answer is 'snarky as always, thanks,' I'll just skip it."

Simon made a face.

"And if you say anything remotely resembling an insult to my girlfriend, I'll dismember you," Harry said in bright voice.

Simon looked shocked.

"Get used to it, mate, we're rooming together all summer." Harry went to the pantry and started rummaging around. Close enough to dinner time to start putting together a meal for everyone, he supposed. He was actually looking forward to it, he hadn't cooked a thing since Christmas and he kind of missed the mundane pleasure. He hoped Hermione would stay for dinner.

Simon was drinking milk from one of the Engorged mugs they kept around for Hagrid. He finished it off while staring at Harry with an evil eye.

"Whatever," he grumbled. "I know it's your house, not mine. I'll try to stay out of the way."

Harry brushed his mind over the younger boy's, and what he saw there made him both sad and angry. He thought he was getting passed around like the orphan he was, and he was trying to resign himself to never having a home. It made Harry angry because Simon was so obviously not giving Remus the credit he deserved.

"Remus was telling you the truth," Harry said casually as he got out a pot to boil some pasta. "Things are about to get much worse. You're a lot safer here."

"I know that," Simon said in a belligerent tone.

"If you believed it, you wouldn't be feeling so sorry for yourself. He cares about you," Harry said sharply.

"What's it got to do with you?"

"It pisses me off that you think so little of Remus," Harry shot back. "He's one of the best men I know, and he's given you a lot more than you've earned. I'd be a little more gracious, if I were you."

Simon looked like he was ready to fight.

"If you want to start something, I will cheerfully prove to you just how badly I can hurt you. But I wish you wouldn't. I'm really not in the mood to beat the crap out of you."

Simon just stood there with his jaw locked and his hands trembling from clenching so tight.

"Listen," Harry said in a much more sober, reasonable voice. "My parents died, too. I lived with Sirius a long time before I let myself love him. So I know the place you're in. But sometimes, life gives you something good that you don't want to trust, and my advice is to just take it because it's not going to happen twice."

Simon still didn't look particularly convinced, but he didn't look like he was on the verge of transforming anymore, either. Harry felt a lot of compassion for him, suddenly. It couldn't be easy, to go from trying to live up to Fenrir Greyback's expectations, knowing he was your only hope despite also knowing that he'd killed your father, all the way to being rescued by someone whose only expectation was that you accept some help as you tried to heal. Simon had first been taught that life was brutal, and now he was trying to deal with the idea that sometimes it could be kind. Confusing for anybody, much less for a werewolf who was also going through puberty.

"Also, meet me outside that room we keep locked, at eight o'clock tonight. I know something that might help."

Simon looked interested, at last. "What's in there?"

"Generally, a lot of pain and shouting," Harry answered. "But don't worry, it's good fun."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Harry spent the first month of summer at the head of the campaign for Amelia Bones for Minister of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour, the other candidate, was a powerful and obvious choice, but since Harry had come down on Madam Bones' side, Scrimgeour had taken a disliking to Harry and Harry to him. Scrimgeour's campaign was doomed almost from the start, but for a reason that made Harry despairing instead of glad.

He could use his fame to point out why Bones was the better candidate all day. He could point out that while Scrimgeour might have slightly more experience with the Ministry's wartime needs, Bones was the one with the integrity to relinquish the excess power when the war was over. Did they really want to hand Scrimgeour nearly limitless political power, he could ask them, especially when they had another candidate who had just as much backbone but more wisdom? And he did. Many times. But the real reason that the public came down on Bones' side was simply this: when the campaign had first started, Scrimgeour had demanded answers about Dumbledore's death from Harry and had been made to look bad. Harry had seen his opportunity and played the wounded innocent. It had been traumatic beyond words to discover his mentor's body like that, he said, and he'd even scrounged up a few fake tears for the cameras that Scrimgeour had foolishly forgotten about. He was too much an Auror and not enough of a politician, which was the reason Harry thought he'd be such a dangerous minister, but that didn't mean it couldn't be taken advantage of.

So, Harry came out looking traumatized, Scrimgeour came out looking like a bully, and the outraged public declared their love for Bones. Harry was satisfied with the outcome, but the trick he'd had to pull and the exhausting manipulation of his fame . . . he was slightly sickened by the whole process. Not least of all because it seemed that he was good at it. He didn't _want_ to be good at it.

However, in mid-July, Amelia Bones was made Minister of Magic and people stopped asking Harry questions about just how traumatic it had been to find Dumbledore (allegedly) murdered / killed by wasting disease. Harry had given a short statement to Gertrude Garnet and then just pretended to be too upset to talk about it. He knew he had done the right thing by Dumbledore that night, and he actually thought he might be exonerated if it went to trial, but he was not about to condemn the Order's greatest asset to an excruciating death.

That was not the end of the press, of course. There were questions about who he thought might be Headmaster at Hogwarts, which he dodged —he could hardly come out and say that since the Board of Directors was controlled by Voldemort, then Acting Headmistress McGonagall would be lucky to keep her life, to say nothing of her job. He was leaving the problems with Hogwarts up to Sirius and Snape. Rita Skeeter, damn the bitch forever, had found out that he'd once been friends with Draco Malfoy and tried to publicly question him about the whereabouts of the boy and his mother. Harry smoothly replied that the friendship had ceased when Draco had chosen Voldemort over Harry and that Rita would do better to seek out the Dark Lord and ask him. Sounded just scathing enough to be convincing to the public, and also sent a message to the Death Eaters that Harry was not harbouring any warm feelings toward the Malfoys and they shouldn't hold out much hope of seeing them alive again.

Once the campaign was over, he retreated into his house. His appearances in public had been with extremely powerful wizards and witches and swarms of Aurors surrounding him. He wasn't about to go out in public alone. That would just be stupid. He kept from going barmy by spending a lot of time brewing with Draco and training with Simon, using them to break up his intense periods of study—Dumbledore had left nearly his entire personal library to Harry in his will, and Harry was only too glad to receive it. He was _still_ sorting through it to decide if there was anything he'd rather donate to the Hogwarts library rather than keep. The pile was pitifully small. Mostly because Hermione sorted through things with him and kept talking him out of letting books go.

He hadn't seen a great deal of Sirius this summer, so far. The man was extremely busy. Somehow, not by his own design, Sirius was leading the Order of the Phoenix. By some combination of being entirely too clever, being a Hogwarts professor, and being Harry Potter's godfather, he'd got put in charge. He kept trying to foist it off on Moody, but Moody wasn't getting any younger and Sirius was better connected to the various plots in motion.

As a result, Sirius spent most of his time ordering people around, organizing networks, gathering information, and being found by his godson in the kitchen at midnight with a cup of coffee and an exhausted, haggard look. Despite the angry, protective feeling this gave Harry, there was nothing he could do for Sirius except win this war. So he usually just forced some food into Sirius and tried to take the responsibility for the household off the man's shoulders. It meant he had to deal with listening to the Black sister's plans for Remus' and Tonks' wedding, look after Simon, and make sure Draco didn't burn the house down, but he was happy to do it if it meant Sirius got some sleep. Sometimes.

* * *

On 31st July, Harry rose at seven o'clock without any idea of the date. His routine was pretty well fixed at this point, and he followed it with the same feelings of grim resoluteness that he'd been harbouring for the past month and a half. He went to Hogwarts for an early morning run. He imagined he was running between four and five miles per day now, but it caused him no innate sense of satisfaction anymore—it was just a good idea to stay in shape. He often took his broom and put himself through a flying workout as well, then some simple forms and mind-clearing exercises to cool down.

He returned home around nine o'clock, showered, and ate a bland but nutritional breakfast. At nine-thirty, he checked on any potions that Draco might have left to cook overnight, then he went into the study. He practiced Mermish by translating a children's book aloud, then studied one of the Transfiguration books that Dumbledore had left to him. At noon, he put the books aside and fixed lunch for himself, Simon, and Draco. Draco wasn't here every day, but he was generally included in the routine. Sirius wasn't here today, for some reason, but Harry didn't worry about it. Sirius often wasn't home. He spent about an hour working with Draco, then spent another hour in the training room with Simon.

Hermione showed up at teatime.

"Hi," he said, feeling a smile on his face for the first time all day.

"Hi," she replied in a happy voice, and stepped forward so he could slide his arms around her and place a gentle kiss on her forehead. They hadn't moved to any overtly sexual displays yet. They had talked it over at some length, and decided that before they started doing anything serious, they were going to let Hermione get comfortable with someone larger and stronger than her. They touched as often as possible, holding hands, cuddling together, laying down for a nap together, and whatever else they could find to do. Harry had started brushing her hair, just so he could get his hands on the beautiful mess of it, and that was surprisingly intimate. She sometimes massaged his sore muscles if he put himself through a particularly grueling workout. The idea was that when (they had cautiously and almost shyly decided that it was _when_, not_ if_) Harry took her to bed, she'd already know, with her physical instincts as much as her rational mind, that the person she was with would never hurt her, and that she already knew his body just as well as he knew hers.

They spent a few minutes cuddling, then went to work sorting through Dumbledore's (Harry's) library. While they worked, they talked about what Harry was going to do next. Harry made sure to cast a few spells to be sure Simon and Draco wouldn't be privy to the conversation. He felt confident in his knowledge of all the Horcruxes and he had collected all the basilisk venom that Dumbledore had saved from the destruction of the beast several years ago. He was fairly certain that he didn't want to cast Fiendfyre at the Horcruxes, but it was a viable alternative if he lost or ran out of the venom.

"Fiendfyre, Harry?" Hermione said doubtfully, looking up from her perusal of a cracked old book he'd put on the Hogwarts donation pile. "I think you should keep this one, by the way."

He rolled his eyes at her predictable attitude toward not keeping the book.

"Well, if I had to do it, I'd ride my broom out into the middle of the Atlantic and cast the curse _there_. I'm just saying, it's an option."

"I'm sure there are other ways to destroy a Horcrux, besides basilisk venom and Fiendfyre. We should get back to our research on that."

Harry made an agreeable noise, but all he said was, "I can destroy Nagini just by killing her, I think. We'll go with the basilisk venom for now and look at other ideas if we need them. I've got to save _some_ room in my brain for my NEWT studies."

"Even though you're not taking them," Hermione grumbled.

They'd had this conversation. He couldn't go back to Hogwarts. He'd likely get snatched right out of his bed at night and dragged before Voldemort. He wasn't giving up his studies, but he couldn't be anywhere visible for a while. He'd made an exception for Madam Bones' campaign speeches, but he'd been so thickly surrounded by Aurors that he'd been willing to risk it a few times.

So he ignored the grumbling. "I think I'd better start practicing with the Elder Wand soon," he said instead.

It was upstairs, in his room, although it was currently disguised as part of the bedframe. He planned to begin using it soon, not exclusively, but often enough to get a feel for it and ensure that when he confronted Voldemort it would work for him. Hermione had asked him what he would do with it after he faced Voldemort. Harry replied that he'd likely work it back into a bedframe and leave it the hell alone. Then she asked him what he was going to do when he confronted Voldemort. That he had no answer for. It was a good question, and Harry had been thinking about it often.

He would not kill Voldemort. He absolutely would not do that. He had tasted the idea of it in those last moments with Dumbledore, but the situation was so different. He knew that his assistance to Dumbledore had wounded him terribly, though his soul had not exactly fractured. He was changed by that experience. Voldemort was not ill, had no intentions of dying, and his death was to be considered punishment for his crimes. Harry wasn't so far outside the law yet that he felt justified in carrying out an execution under his own authority. No, he could not kill Voldemort. _Could not_ without becoming something . . . something as wrong and evil as Voldemort himself. He was not a murderer, and he was going to keep it that way.

So what he would do, was make Voldemort mortal again. He was going to force the man to see that he was nothing more or less than a wizard, bound by wizarding laws and with the limitations of mortality. He was going to take away his Horcruxes, he was going to tie him up in ropes, and he was going to deliver him to the Ministry's door for trial. The utter humiliation of being put on trial and having to answer for his crimes would be a far more cruel fate, for a person like Tom Riddle, than mere death would be. Harry was pretty sure the fellow was going to get the death sentence for his crimes. He would get Kissed, anyway. Say, there was a thought. Maybe Dementors could kiss Horcruxes. Good backup plan, that. Unless it turned _them_ into Horcruxes, a thought that would keep anyone up nights.

He didn't explain the part about Dumbledore's death to Hermione, but he did tell her everything else. He needed her to know that he wasn't considering murder. Hermione suddenly dropped everything, pulled him over to the sofa, and practically sat on him to hold him there. She wrapped her arms around him so tightly that it almost hurt.

"This shouldn't be so hard," she whispered roughly. "You shouldn't have to do so much. It's not fair that it has to be you."

Harry gave her a confused look. "Hermione . . . I chose to do this. I said I would."

"Only because Voldemort was already after you and Dumbledore already thought it was inevitable that you were it," she argued.

Harry gave her a crooked smile. "You of all people know how stubborn I am. You really think I'd let old Voldemort and Dumbledore tell me what to do?"

She let out a disbelieving little laugh. "Harry," she murmured, nearly squeezing the breath out of him. "I know you're taking on the responsibility willingly. But . . . look at how much it's changed you. It'll keep changing you. And it will change me, too. Can you blame me for being a little angry and scared?"

Harry hadn't thought about that. That all this was going to fundamentally change Hermione, as a person. And that she was choosing to stay with him despite how frightening that was.

"Hermione," he said slowly. "I don't want that for you." Their policy of openness and honesty was hard to get used to. There were so many opportunities to hurt one another's feelings. But they already knew that they didn't mean to do that, so they were learning to ignore hurt feelings and look at what lay behind them. "I don't want you to change just to stay with me. I'm not sure what to feel about this. I know that you are capable of making your own decisions. And you know how much I want you with me. But I think I'm going to feel very guilty about what I'm going to put you through. I already do feel guilty."

"How can you feel guilty when it's my decision?"

Harry bit his lip. "Because it wouldn't happen if it weren't for me. Guilt isn't always rational, you know."

"No, but _you_ are always rational," she argued.

"I know you're afraid. You've told me. I honestly don't know why you're still here, Hermione. I don't know what you're doing with me, when all I can be right now is a source of pain and fear for you. I realize now why you broke up with me to begin with. I don't know why you came back."

Hermione grabbed his face in her hands and gave him a look of blazing passion. "You are my best friend, Harry Potter. You care more about me than I ever imagined a man could, and you've given me freedom from at least one of my worst fears. You have trusted me and included me in every part of your life that you can. I know that there are things you can't tell me, but we have managed to maintain our respect for one another in spite of that. I don't think I'm going to find that anywhere else. You are a good, brave man. You are the most intelligent person I know, with the passion for learning I never thought I'd find in anyone but myself. You are patient, and courageous, and so many other things."

Harry tried not to let her see the doubt in his eyes. He knew that he was patient with her fears, that he must be brave to be facing down the dangers in his life without going screaming mad. He knew he cared about her, because his heart practically stopped every time he looked at her and because he'd never taken so much joy from simply holding a girl's hand until Hermione. He knew that she was speaking the truth about him. But for Merlin's sake. He was a former fugitive, he'd hired prostitutes, he'd cursed the previous Minister's undersecretary, he'd nearly failed music theory class, and he'd been callous enough to take the Elder Wand from Dumbledore when he should have been weeping. And if she stayed with him, there was a good chance that she could get tortured and murdered. And he might get tortured and murdered, and if she survived, who knew if she'd be brave enough to risk another relationship?

Before he could point any of this out, she leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes against the tears welling in them.

"And if I'm not here, I'm afraid of what might happen to you," she whispered. "You need me, Harry. I'm not trying to stroke my ego. You need me."

"I do," he admitted, gratefully holding her against him. He was grateful because she already understood this and he didn't have to explain it to her. She was his insurance against the darkness in his own heart. As long as she was there and he had to meet her eyes, he would kill himself to keep from disappointing her. If she wasn't there . . . he might not. And that possibility scared him more than any ideas about his fate at Voldemort's hands. "I'm so selfish, Hermione, I'm sorry. But don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

"I'm not going to, you dolt. Now, then. Come on."

"What? Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. And I know you trust me, so don't start dragging your feet now. Don't tell me you're out of Floo powder?"

"There's a new package in the kitchen," he said in bewilderment. "Why?"

"We're going somewhere that we can forget about all of this for a few hours," she declared grandly.

Harry was entirely certain that wasn't possible, but he followed her. Because trust was the most valuable commodity in the world, and he wasn't about to let theirs lose any of its value.

* * *

Neville had cautiously agreed to meet Sirius Black in his classroom at Hogwarts on 31st July, despite the fact that the professor had refused to explain the nature of the meeting. The man was taking no chances with possible monitoring on fireplaces. Much easier to combat spies once they were in the school, since he was a true master with warding spells. Something to do with warding an entire town against vampires, though Neville had considered this to be a fabrication to impress the younger students to pay attention in his classes.

They met in the early afternoon, and Professor Black looked as deadly sober and determined as Neville had ever seen a man look. Neville felt some pity for him. He'd had a rough time of it since Albus had died. Neville was actually feeling kind of good that day, since he'd just used Apparition for the first time without supervision. He'd turned seventeen yesterday, and he could get used to the idea of doing magic whenever he bloody well wanted to.

But seeing the professor shocked him out of his good mood. He was invited to have a seat.

"What's going on, Professor?" Neville asked cautiously.

The man sighed. "You're seventeen and I'm about to make life even harder for you than it already is, Neville. Just call me Sirius, okay?"

Neville couldn't shake the feeling that he just wanted to be called that because he was still, after all this time, sort of a rebel and liked to undermine established authority. But he nodded agreeably and waited for the purpose of this meeting to be revealed.

"As you know, the Board of Directors belongs to Voldemort," the professor said bluntly. "I'm not sure exactly who's going to be made Headmaster, but it's going to happen within a week or two. It's likely to be Snape."

Neville paled at that. He was entirely against the idea of having the (alleged) murderer of Albus in charge of his school. But Neville was getting highly practiced at rolling with the punches, and he just nodded for Sirius to continue.

"McGonagall's got only a few days left as Acting Headmistress to do what she can for the students next year. She's trying to firm up staff appointments as much as possible, despite the fact that Professor Burbage has gone missing and we doubt we can get her replaced. I don't think they'll want Muggle Studies at the school anymore."

Neville knew what "gone missing" meant, these days. He swallowed a sick feeling. Professor Burbage was a nice woman and it didn't seem right that she'd been killed just for the subject she taught.

"The other thing we're doing is appointing you Head Boy."

Neville stiffened. "What?"

Sirius raked his hands through his tangled hair, which was escaping from its usual ponytail. "Head Boy, Neville. You're going to be in charge of as much as we can give you. What we're hoping is that the new Headmaster, Snape or whoever, won't feel they have enough power immediately to get rid of you and appoint a new one."

"Why me?" Neville asked faintly.

Sirius gave him a sad look. "Because we believe in you, Neville. Why else?"

"I'm not anything special," Neville protested. "I don't have the highest marks or anything."

"You're a prefect and you're the leader of the DL," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "Merlin's sake, boy, what else would we look for in a Head Boy?"

Neville poked at this idea, feeling at it like it was a loose tooth. He'd gotten too used to being sort of reviled by the other students, and the changes that had taken place over the last couple of years had crept up on him. He was surprised to realise that the members of the DL all liked him, and that he was an effective prefect. He wasn't the best student ever, wasn't even taking Potions anymore, but he wasn't the worst, either. Weird to think that he'd ended up being exactly what Dumbledore had wanted him to be, after all.

"Okay," Neville said calmly. "I reckon you're expecting me to sort of buffer the students from whatever the new headmaster throws at them?"

Sirius nodded tightly, looking ashamed. "It's likely to hurt."

"I would have volunteered if I knew you needed someone," Neville said lightly. Pain didn't bother him much. Not being able to fight in this war was worse. "Who's Head Girl?"

Sirius tried to straighten his hair again. "We haven't been able to reach a decision there, yet. We think Miss Weasley is the best candidate, but she obviously can't take the position, being a sixth year. Miss Patil's not the right material, brave as she is, and I don't think enough of the school will respect Miss Abbot." He shrugged. "Any ideas?"

Neville thought about it. The answer was glaringly obvious, but he hated it, and he didn't want to say it. Unfortunately, Sirius was right about how limited their options were. Damn Cho for graduating, anyway.

"Veronica Vanderlay," he sighed, forcing it out.

Sirius gave him an affronted look. "Slytherin prefect who nearly lost her badge when she got caught behind a suit of armour trying to swallow her fellow prefect Blaise Zabini? That Veronica Vanderlay?"

Neville sighed again. "Yes."

Sirius crossed his arms. "I'm listening."

"She's a Slytherin prefect," Neville said. "You have to see the advantages of that."

Sirius's eyebrows went up. "Oh."

"If she and I come together as a package deal to the new Headmaster, Head Boy and Head Girl already chosen . . ."

". . . he might actually allow it," Sirius said, sounding impressed. "Sneaky."

"Not to mention the third of the school that won't like having me in charge won't mind having her. Between the two of us, we'd pretty much have the student population's support."

"You've got one very big problem," Sirius said. "She's a Slytherin. How on earth are you going to work together with her?"

"Well, she's loads more reasonable than Pansy," Neville pointed out. "She's actually got some class and we've worked together as prefects without resorting to curses. Can't say the same for Pansy, unfortunately. For her."

"You're saying you think you can work with her? That the two of you can agree on things?"

"Doubt we'll agree on much," Neville said. "But I think she'll do her part to keep the students from coming to harm. She's not really the violent type."

"I'm still not thinking this is a great idea."

"I'm one of the very few people who know what really happened to Draco Malfoy," Neville said as his closing argument. "And that definitely works in my favour to get her indebted to me."

"What?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you professors think you know so much."

"Well, we— hey!" Sirius' face darkened. "I don't really have the energy to play games, Neville. Tell me."

"I'm sorry," Neville apologized. He knew this was serious business, but he thought he could be forgiven for trying to find _some_ lightness in all of it. "Let's just put it this way, sir. If Veronica didn't want to get caught, she'd have let Blaise talk her into somewhere a little more private."

"She wanted to get caught?"

"She wanted to make Draco Malfoy jealous to spur him into lavishing her with attention."

Sirius said nothing, but the look on his face was priceless. "She's in love with that little ferret?"

"Madly," Neville said, rolling his eyes. "Her plan didn't really work out, of course, since Draco was busy spiraling down into madness and treason and didn't take much notice of it. She got stuck with having Blaise as a boyfriend, but she's not exactly getting dragged into kicking and screaming, him being good-looking and rich and all. But I am pretty sure I can get some concessions out of her in exchange for some information about Draco."

"And you think it's a good idea to tell her Draco's whereabouts?"

"His whereabouts are not what I was planning to tell her, no," Neville said thoughtfully. "I was mostly just going to tell her that he'd defected. It'll come out eventually anyway, so there's no harm in her knowing. And she just might think it's a good idea for her to work on the same side he does in the hopes of seeing him again and impressing him."

Sirius was quiet for a long time.

"You do know that you are one sneaky bastard," he said at last, sounding impressed. "I'll talk to Minerva about it. But before this can happen, you and I are going to sit down and work out a foolproof way to ensure the information stays with Miss Vanderlay. I absolutely am not going to jeopardize the agreement Harry has with Draco. There are far too many people affected by it now."

Neville nodded. "I understand."

"There's something else I want from you, Neville," Sirius said abruptly. "I've thought about this until I've nearly driven myself mad, but I'm sure you're the proper person for what I need. I just couldn't ask you until you were of age."

"What?" Neville asked curiously.

"Well, you're close enough to us that it makes sense, yet far enough away that no one would think of you. And I absolutely cannot think of anyone more committed to our side than you are. I know how much you and Dumbledore loved each other, and I know of no one who is more unquestioningly stalwart in his convictions. I am absolutely certain I can trust you with this—and if you know my history, you know this is not a decision I'm undertaking lightly."

Neville just waited. He had no idea what Sirius wanted, but he wasn't sure he was going to like it.

"I want to make you the Secret-Keeper for Headquarters for the Order. Dumbledore put the place under a Fidelius charm, and I want to renew it with you, Neville."

Neville was shocked. "You really want _me_ to do that?"

Sirius nodded. "You are the one person I know beyond a shadow of a doubt will never betray us. I thought about having Harry do it, but he's too obvious a choice, as is anyone in the Order. Dumbledore was strong enough that it didn't matter how obvious a choice he was. Now we have to be a little more clever."

Neville could see all the things that had gone into this decision, and he could see what made him such a good choice. And, well, he was already going to be Head Boy and leader of the DL. He wasn't exactly making a choice between being in danger or out of it. Might as well.

"Okay," he said soberly.

They performed the spell, Sirius walking Neville carefully through the process. Then it was done, and Neville felt strangely heavy, like bags of sand had been placed about him.

"I've been told it's disconcerting at first," Sirius said compassionately. "It'll feel better after a few days. You'll need to write down the location on something so I can show it to the Order members."

"Don't they already know it?"

"They did when Dumbledore had the keeping of it. But that's the beauty of Fidelius charms," Sirius grinned. "Handy, aren't they?"

Neville smiled back and carefully wrote down Sirius' address on a piece of parchment.

"Once I show this to everyone who needs it, I'll destroy it," Sirius said. "Try to make sure none of your school papers leaves the school, okay? I don't want a sample of your handwriting to become available to anyone to compare this note against. I don't want anyone even in the Order to know who you are."

Neville nodded soberly. "I have some of my school papers in my trunk at Gran's," he said. "I'll go home and burn them."

"Later," Sirius said repressively. "We have to go upstairs first."

"Upstairs?" Neville repeated cautiously. "What's upstairs?"

"The upper floors," Sirius answered. He shook Neville's hand. "I know this is a little bit more responsibility than you were likely picturing on your first day of adulthood, but thank you, Neville. Now, we're going to be working together quite a bit, so you'd better get used to trusting me. Come with me."

Neville followed him with trepidation. He reflected that while Sirius was correct, and he hadn't really pictured coming of age entailing quite this much danger to his person, he certainly hadn't argued about it. Maybe he had a death wish. Or maybe Albus had been right about his being so completely good and brave that he'd never question doing whatever was necessary. Strange thought, that. He wasn't a hero or anything like that. But he was pretty sure he'd die before giving up the Order or his fellow students to Voldemort. And he was pretty sure he'd fight like hell before dying, as well. So maybe it was okay to feel a _little_ bit like a bad-ass.

* * *

Neville was kind of surprised to see Hermione and Harry when they got to the seventh floor, although Sirius and Hermione didn't seem too surprised to see one another. Harry was looking more suspicious all the time.

"We're at the Room of Requirement."

"Very good for stating the obvious, Harry," Sirius remarked.

"What's in the Room of Requirement?"

"Whatever we require, honestly, Harry," Hermione sighed.

Neville felt some solidarity with Harry. "I'm not going in there."

"Of course you are. We are all on the same side and working together and we'd never bring you to harm," Sirius said patiently. He paced in front of the blank wall until the door appeared.

Harry and Neville met one another's eyes as they were forced through the door, not liking this one bit. They were bonded, for the moment, ready to work together to face whatever was about to hit them.

Their eyes were assaulted by colour and loud banging, by a crowd of people, and they both automatically assumed that these sensory clues added up to the fact that they were being attacked by a range of spells.

"SURPRISE!" the entire room shouted cheerfully.

Then a good quarter of them fell to Harry and Neville's wands before the two boys noticed the gigantic banner over a table loaded with food that said "Happy Birthday!" with too much artistic flair to have been contributed by anyone but Dean Thomas. They both sputtered to a halt and began to sheepishly revive their fallen friends. After sorting out that they were at a surprise birthday party that the DL had planned for them, they were content to eat their cake and share a few butterbeers and feel inordinately happy at this proof that quite a few people found them worthwhile.

Everyone giggled at what had happened when Neville and Harry had come in. But it wasn't really that funny, when they thought about it.

* * *

That night, the reminder that he could use magic anytime he liked fell on Harry fully. It was time. He couldn't wait any longer to begin his quest. He needed to find the Horcruxes and destroy them, and he needed to do it immediately. There was one more meeting that had to take place.

He used one of the school owls to send a message to Professor Snape. Then he sent an owl to Minister Bones to remind her that he was strongly in support of the idea that Kingsley Shacklebolt should be her undersecretary. Then he sent an owl to Flourish and Blotts to have all required Hogwarts textbooks for his NEWT year delivered to Hermione's house. He returned to the remnants of the party (which was clearing out now) to ask Hermione to come by the house tomorrow. She agreeably said she would, then froze in surprise.

"What is it?" he said, touching her arm.

"I don't know how to get there," she said slowly. "Why don't I know that?"

Harry gripped her arm harder. "Um, I don't think I know, either. Sirius!" he shouted.

The man was by his side in an instant at his panicked call. "What's wrong?"

Harry spoke in a low voice. "You renewed the charm on the house?"

Sirius reached into his pocket for the slip of paper. "Yeah, here you go."

They both read the paper and relaxed a bit, then Sirius tucked it out of sight again.

"Who is it?" Harry asked. "Handwriting's sort of familiar . . ."

Sirius shook his head. "Nothing doing, kid. You don't need to know."

Harry bit his lip. "Yeah, you're right."

Hermione slipped her hand into his.

"What?" he asked her.

"You haven't bit your lip like that in a long time," she said. "I'd forgotten you used to do that when you were nervous."

The fact that he was doing it again meant his nerves and stress were distracting him to inexcusable levels. He resolved not to do it ever again. His use of Occlumency was not going to be particularly useful if his face gave it all away already.

"Tomorrow," Harry said, breathing in one last good whiff of her smell.

"Okay," she said. "What's going on tomorrow, though?"

"A meeting," he muttered. "You'll see."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

It took place in a Muggle pub in a busy section of London that did not pay attention to strangers. London was a busy city, a melting pot of cultures that was stirred by speeding cars, camera-happy tourists, and a staggering number of historians. Four unfamiliar faces sitting down for a few pints in one of its many pubs went entirely unnoticed.

Harry still had his Australian identification card that showed his age at twenty-one and well old enough to drink, but the barman barely looked at him before serving him and certainly didn't ask for proof of age. He'd offered to try to get a false ID for Hermione, but she was disinclined to drink in either case. Sirius was disinclined to do this sober and promised to drink enough to make up her share. The three of them had plenty of Muggle clothes to choose from, so they didn't stand out as they found a table and waited. Harry wasn't worried about their fourth member standing out, but he was slightly curious as to where he might obtain Muggle clothes.

When Snape walked in, Harry almost missed him. Partly it was the way the button-down and slacks took away his ability to swoop in and look imposing, and it was also partly that Voldemort's pride and attention to appearance had forced the man to look more polished and less like a greasy git. It also had a lot to do with the fact that he no longer radiated the attitude of a bitter curmudgeon and now displayed the symptoms of a haunted man on the run—sort of like Sirius when Harry had first met him. But still, there couldn't be two men walking into this pub that had that sallow face and gigantic nose, could there?

Snape sat at their table without a glance to the bar. He obviously wanted to get this over with quickly. Sirius shook his head and pushed the beer he'd given Hermione for the sake of appearances across the table.

"Don't stand out," he warned the other professor.

Snape glared down at the drink and then at Harry.

"I assume you realise how difficult it was for me to come here without suspicion, and I therefore assume that we are not here for a friendly chat over lunch."

Harry let out a deep breath and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Just trying to get you killed, sir," he said flippantly. "Start drinking before people wonder what you're up to."

Snape took a very grudging drink.

"All right, Harry," Sirius said, "what's this all about?"

Harry shrugged. "I reckon we'll only get to do this once before we're caught, so we need to share as much information as possible right now."

"Why now?"

"Because we don't have time to waste, obviously," Harry said impatiently. He looked at Snape. "Are you going to be headmaster this year?"  
Snape nodded. "It will be my duty to rid the school of its undeserving Muggleborns," he said dispassionately. It gave no indication how he felt about this task.

"If I stay at the school where they can find me, you'll be forced to fire Sirius?"

Snape almost smiled. "I think it would not be by force."

Harry again suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "But I'm likely to get snatched out of my bed one night and taken to Voldemort, yeah?"

Snape nodded again.

"And if I leave the school and hide, Sirius will get taken?"

"If you are so capable of discerning the outcome on your own, why am I here?"

"Because we're planning the end of this damn war, that's why," Harry said in an almost pleasant voice. "We kind of need to cooperate on this, don't you think?"

What Snape may have thought went unanswered, since Harry didn't give him time to do so.

"It means Sirius and I will both have to leave the school, doesn't it?"

Now Snape looked surprised, as if the idea that they would both flee had not occurred to him. "To avoid either of you being captured, it is the course I would recommend."

Sirius looked angry at this idea. "Now, hold on a minute, here—"

"Sirius," Harry said quietly. "You know we have to do this. It's not like you won't have other things to occupy your time."

Sirius slugged down the rest of his drink and looked longingly at the bottom of the glass. "Remus has been worried about Simon's education, I suppose that's something I could do. And . . . other people's education might need guidance." He made a face at that.

Snape had no idea what Sirius was talking about, and obviously did not care. "And what is it that will occupy _your_ time, Potter?"

"The task Dumbledore gave me," Harry answered. That was all he planned to say about it to Snape. "I hope that it won't take me too long, but I'll need at least a month or two."

Snape looked grave. "Be certain, Potter. Too much time, and the Dark Lord will have grasped enough power that we will no longer be able to take it back from him."

Harry nodded. "I know."

Sirius suddenly sat forward in his chair. "Oh, Severus, there's something you need to know. Minerva and I made Neville Longbottom the Head Boy this year. Try to leave him there, would you? If I can't be there to offer some protection from the standards you're going to enforce, those kids are going to need somebody they can go to."

Snape sneered at that, but seemed to be thinking about it.

"We made Veronica Vanderlay Head Girl," Sirius said almost casually. "Reckon that makes Neville less of a problem for you."

Snape gave a careful nod. "We shall see."

Harry was giving Sirius a curious look. "You didn't tell me you were going to do that," he muttered, but that was the extent of his comments and complaints on the topic. He leaned back and snaked his arm around Hermione, who'd been suspiciously quiet. "That's all from me. I'm disappearing, Sirius is disappearing, and you're headmaster. Anything we need to know from you?"

Snape gave him a cold look. He was obviously itching to say something snarky but useless and was at war with the knowledge that he couldn't waste this meeting.

"Persecution of Muggleborns is going to become far more open," he said at last. "We are already infiltrating the Ministry, and Hogwarts is the only institution that could stand up to the Ministry before now. Since I am put at its head, I will be expected to cooperate with my counterparts in the government. Things will devolve quickly. If you expect to not get captured, you cannot rush to the rescue in some foolhardy fashion when you hear reports of these things, despite your inclination for such."

Harry was puzzled. "I'm not much for foolhardy rescues."

"What on earth do you call what you did in the Department of Mysteries?" Snape asked in a silky voice.

"Tactics," Harry said without concern. "I wanted Voldemort to think I was an idiot. Seems to have worked. Of course, I was also trying to hold him there until enough people showed up to capture him or at least confirm his return, and that worked out pretty well, too. Oh, and you notice how much power Lucius Malfoy has lost since he's had to scramble to stay out of jail? I thought I did pretty good for being a fool rushing into a dangerous situation."

Snape just glared at him.

"Okay, I think we're all on the same page," Harry said brightly. "Anyone want another drink before we say goodbye?"

He received two glares, and Hermione still didn't break her strange silence to respond with her normal dismissal of his more absurd ideas. Snape stood up and departed without another word, but Harry jumped up to follow him. He gripped the man's arm, hard. Lucky he couldn't get hexed out here in front of Muggles.

"We're going to win," Harry said in a low, rough voice. "I'll make sure of it. Just stay alive, okay?"

Then he released Snape and went back to their table.

"We ready to go?"

Sirius and Hermione got up immediately, neither of them looking particularly happy.

"What was the point of all this?" Sirius growled.

Harry shrugged. "I was giving Snape time to prepare for our disappearance. I'd rather he not get found out as a spy and killed while we still need him. And I know you, Sirius. You'd never have quit if you didn't hear from Snape personally that he was going to fire you, anyway."

They walked in silence until they found a nice, deserted alley to Apparate in, and they returned to Grimmauld Place. Hermione took Harry aside when he made to follow Sirius upstairs to check on Simon.

"Why did you want me there?" Hermione asked him curiously. "I didn't want to say anything because I had no idea why I was invited."

Harry was almost as confused as she was. "Well, you needed to be part of the meeting, of course."

"You could have told me about it later."

"But you should be involved in the planning, since it's about your life as much as mine."

"It is?"

"Hermione, I'm not going to be able to stay here in London," Harry said softly, drawing her into his arms. "I thought you knew that."

She was stiff against him. "Where are you going?"

"I haven't quite figured that out yet," he admitted. "But I knew better than to think you'd let me go without you."

"Darn right," she muttered, feeling choked up and pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Since I knew you'd be coming with me, I didn't think it was fair to leave you out of the meeting."

Hermione nodded her acknowledgement. "Thank you, Harry."

He kissed the top of her head. "Are you hungry? Do you want me to cook you something?"

She shook her head. "No. Let's just finish sorting out those books."

* * *

Harry sat silently at the kitchen table, the fake locket and the mysterious note in front of him. He had one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee, but he'd quite forgotten it was there. He was Thinking.

Hermione had been looking up all the names she could find that might contain the initials "R.A.B." They had agreed it was someone that Voldemort at least had a passing acquaintance with, so she was looking at everyone he might have known in the Ministry and Hogwarts prior to his first downfall, and everyone in the Order whom they could find by name. She'd found, in essence, nothing. Granted, there were a couple of people with those initials, but the connection was so ludicrous that they were dismissed.

Someone's footsteps were in the hallway, and Harry immediately swept the objects into his lap and grabbed the mug of coffee with both hands. He lowered his head over it and tried to appear to be too distracted to look up.

"Harry?" Sirius asked in a cautious voice. "Did you just hide something from me?"

Harry looked up. "Oh. No. Well, yes, but it's only because I don't want to take a chance on Simon seeing it."

"He's in his room. Slowly going mad, I think."

Harry held the locket up by its chain. "Have I really not showed this to you, yet?"

Sirius frowned. "That's it, then? The fake?" He seemed hesitant to take it, though Harry was holding it out.

"Yeah. Thought you'd already seen it, sorry."

"I wasn't too keen to start asking you questions about anything surrounding that night, until you were ready."

Harry shrugged, and the motion looked irritated. "This is important, and I know how to compartmentalize emotion. Obviously not as well as I thought I did. Anyway, here's this, as well." He pushed the note across the table.

Sirius took it, looked at it, and blinked in a very strange, startled way. He looked at it more closely. His eyes became wide and confused.

"Harry?" he said, his voice disconcertingly small. "Why is there a note from my brother in your fake Horcrux?"

Harry shook his head. "What are you playing at, Sirius, it's from— oh. My. _God!_" He snatched the note back. "Are you sure? Do you recognise the handwriting? I didn't know his middle name! This can't possibly be your brother! You're absolutely sure?"

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Sirius said slowly. "I'm sure. I never knew why he was killed. I always thought of him as this useless, annoying little sycophant, and I thought Voldemort just didn't need him. I never thought he would, well, do something like this."

"He must have turned against Voldemort," Harry said in wonderment. "Voldemort can't have found out about this, or it wouldn't have still been there. He must have done something else, too, must have defied him openly."

Sirius placed his hands flat against the table and stared at them. "If I had known . . ." He looked up. "I would have— maybe I could have— I mean, I already knew how to do it, James and Lily were going into hiding!"

Harry didn't know what he could say. "You didn't know, Sirius. How could you have?"

"I could have spent less time burning bridges behind me, at least!" he growled. "If we had still been speaking—"

"Sirius," Harry said calmly. "Regulus knew whose side you were on, and he knew how well-connected you were. If he'd thought to ask anyone for help, I'm sure it would have been you. But he didn't. That's something he chose, not you."

Sirius took a few deep breaths. "Right. You're right. But I need to know _why_. I don't even know why he decided to do this, much less why he didn't come to me after. He should have known I would have protected him. Well, after I whalloped him first. But . . ."

"It's likely that you aren't ever going to know his reasons, Sirius. I doubt he wrote them down. Damn," Harry said in sudden disgust, "I was hoping the fellow who did this would still be alive and interested in helping me. Hey, you don't think . . ."

Sirius shook his head firmly. "No. The Death Eaters gave his body back to the family. I wasn't invited to the funeral, nor did I have an inclination to go, but I definitely would have heard about it if they buried an empty casket."

"I didn't know you missed his funeral."

Sirius frowned. "That's because we haven't talked about him in years. Not a very appropriate subject for a ten-year-old, is it?"

"Um, you do remember how much time I spent around prostitutes when I was ten? That's not the point, anyway. I just . . . I'm sad that you didn't get the chance to say goodbye. But this helps, doesn't it? Knowing about this?"

Sirius shook his head, looking bewildered. "Not yet." He picked up the locket again. "Well, you've got a problem, don't you?"

"Who, me?"

"Yeah. How are you going to figure out if he destroyed the real one or not?"

Harry frowned in concentration, then he looked up with a yelp of triumph. "You know how many times I've heard it said that you are nothing compared to your brother, and that Regulus was a hundred times the man you are, and that while you may be a stain on the name of your house, Regulus was a paragon of virtue?"

Sirius raised his eyebrow. "I can only imagine. The damn house elf rarely says anything else when we're in the same— oh. You can't possibly be saying what I think you're saying."

Harry jumped to his feet. "If anyone alive is going to be able to tell us, it's Kreacher." Then a small, seemingly unimportant moment two years past popped into his head. "I just remembered. When we were cleaning out the house, when we first moved here, Kreacher tried to keep a bunch of stuff."

"And he threw an unholy tantrum when we wouldn't let him."

"I let him keep one thing," Harry admitted. "Because he was actually sobbing with anger that I was going to take it away, and I just gave in. It was a locket."

Sirius stood up from the table almost as abruptly as Harry. "He still _has it?_ Krea—"

"No, don't call him!" Harry said hastily. "What if he's in the middle of something? We don't want it to look like an emergency. We should just pop in and see if we can have him for a couple of hours."

Sirius nodded. "Okay."

They both nearly ran for the study's fireplace. But when they were still in the hallway, Harry heard a weird, alarming noise from upstairs. It sounded like a siren that was slowly having its volume turned up. It was a horrible high-pitched whining sound and Sirius covered his ears with a grimace of pain.

"What is that?" he shouted.

Harry, covering his ears, shook his head in response. "I don't know! It's coming from upstairs, it's— oh, no, it's a potion!" he shrieked, and tried to run up the stairs. He only made it halfway before the solid _whoompf_ of an explosion rocked the house, taking him off his feet and throwing him into the air.

"_Harry_!"

* * *

Draco glared at his mother. He struggled to keep his temper in check and his mind tightly reined in, because he had gotten _awfully_ good at a few non-verbal curses and didn't want to accidentally cast one on her. He narrowed his eyes and, once again, mimed writing something. His mother just looked back at him stonily.

"You are _ill_, Draco, and you will stay in bed and rest, do you understand?"

He gritted his teeth. Next time he woke up with a fever, he was going to keep his big mouth shut about it, he swore to himself furiously. He didn't know what on earth his mother had given him to cure his soaring temperature and aching throat, but it had removed his voice, for at least a few hours. And he didn't _like_ not being able to speak. Not at _all_. That she had then proceeded to bind him into bed and was refusing to fetch him paper to communicate with, was almost nothing compared to the fact that she'd tricked him into drinking a potion that had _taken his voice_. He should have known better!

Angry and close to panic, he tried miming again, this time with a rude hand gesture thrown in. He was never anything but flawlessly respectful in his mother's presence, but he was at his wit's end with her.

"No," she said adamantly. "It is bad enough, Draco, that you have put us in this position. You are a turncoat and you have impoverished us and forced us to live in this situation. You are . . . you have become . . . you are blood traitor," she whispered as if in great pain. "And I am trying to _live_ with that. But you are not making it easy for me, with this disgusting way you are trying to curry favour with Harry Potter. You spend as much time with him as you do here, if not more, and it _sickens_ me. And now you are trying to go over there and slave away like a house elf while you are ill. And I won't allow it. I have had enough."

If Draco hadn't been bound to the bed, he might have slapped her, she sounded that much like an idiot. She was obviously living in a world of her own imagination, where she could afford to be arrogant and ignore the obligations they had to their hosts. Draco was either smarter than his mother or just less deluded, but he was almost shocked by the way she was blathering on like their entire life hadn't changed. And now she was calling him a turncoat and a blood traitor? He was enraged. Maybe he was a turncoat. Maybe. But he didn't see how refusing to allow Fenrir Greyback to feast on children made him a blood traitor.

Besides, this was urgent, for Merlin's sake. He didn't have _time_ for her dramatics.

_Accio parchment!_ he thought with desperation. _Accio quill_!

The objects zoomed into the room, eliciting a shriek from his mother, and he snatched them up, furiously scribbling down his note and thrusting it at her until she agreed to take it.

_Stop being a hysterical bitch and let me up! There is a potion at Harry's that should have been checked an hour ago and I can't because you stuck me in this stupid bed!_

She was about to respond, looking down at him very coldly, but the door to his room banged against the wall and made her shriek again. There stood Potter, looking extremely grim, with blood dripping down the side of his face and his clothes looking rather singed.

"What," he began in a quiet, and very scary, voice, "just happened?"

Draco winced. He snatched the note from his mother and held it out to Potter, who took it curiously, and immediately turned to Draco's mother with his eyebrows raised.

"He is very ill, and he needs to be in bed," she sniffed, and then glided from the room without another word.

Draco growled and strained against the invisible restraints on his body. He hadn't mastered the art of non-verbally getting free of this charm—it was specifically tailored by the mothers of sick children. Potter held out his wand, and Draco closed his eyes, expecting to be hexed into oblivion as revenge. Instead, nothing happened at all, and he opened his eyes to see Potter giving him an amused, lopsided smile.

"I can see that this wasn't exactly your fault."

Draco nodded vigorously.

"_Finite Incantatum_," Potter intoned, and Draco was free. He stood up cautiously. "Guilty or no, you're going to come back to the house with me and try to sort out the mess. I wasn't about to try to clean it up when I didn't even know what it was."

Draco sighed and nodded.

"Did she use a tongue-tying curse on you or something?"

_Potion_, Draco mouthed with exaggerated movements. He clutched his throat and winced.

Potter chuckled as he led the way out of the room. "Maybe she'll tell me what it was. I kind of like you when you can't talk."

Draco tried to swat the other teenager in the back of the head, then remembered Potter had a head injury and tried to stop himself. Not that it mattered. He had spun around and grabbed hold of his wrist to prevent the blow. Draco made a face.

_Show off_, he mouthed. Then a thought struck him. He exaggerated the movement Potter had just made, and gestured at himself, raising his eyebrows in question.

"You want to learn this stuff?"

Draco nodded.

Potter snorted. "Fat chance. I'm already uncertain about dueling you, see. I am not stupid enough to teach you how to fight me physically as well."

Draco wanted to argue, but the little whuffing noise he managed to make wasn't particularly eloquent. Besides, Potter had a point.

As he walked, Potter clutched at his side and groaned. "Bruised my ribs," he muttered. "Got knocked off the stairs."

Draco let out a wheezy little laugh, which he unfortunately couldn't explain. He just remembered that Potter had explained the injuries he'd arrived with (when he was still Evan) by saying he'd fallen down the stairs at home. He didn't see how Potter managed to sustain so many wounds from the perfectly traditional staircase at Grimmauld Place when the enchanted moving stairs at Hogwarts had never given him any trouble.

Of course, he shouldn't have laughed, because he got punched in the side and ended up doing some groaning and rib-prodding of his own.

They came into the Tonks' sitting room to find that Narcissa was sitting there with her nose turned up and pretending to pay no attention at all to Professor Black. Black, meanwhile, was explaining to Andromeda and Ted that he would like to take Kreacher back to help clean up from the Potions accident.

"He's your elf, Sirius," Andromeda said in exasperation. "You can have him whenever you need him."

Black frowned down at the little elf, who was glaring right back at him. He obviously was not in favour of going with the professor, rather than remaining with the only living member of the Black family who had not got her name blasted off the family tree. Draco could hardly blame him.

"He's got his own mind, hasn't he?" Black said grudgingly. _Such as it is_, thought Draco. "But Kreacher, we do need your help."

Kreacher puffed up with pride at that.

"You're sure Harry's all right, now?" Ted asked. "We can take a look at him. Goodness knows we've had enough experience with minor injuries after raising Dora."

"I'm fine," Potter said to announce his presence. "I've got some things at home that will fix me up— well, I hope I've things at home." He turned to Draco. "Think anything from the laboratory can be salvaged?"

Draco shrugged, as it was the best he could do without being able to speak. His mother was glaring at both boys, but Potter was so good at ignoring her that Draco tried to do the same. He made to follow Black and Potter and his mother decided to rekindle her irrational maternal fit.

"Where do you think you are going, young man?"

_The hell with it, I'm of age anyway_, he decided, grinding his teeth, and turned his back on her. Then he pulled up, startled, when he realised he couldn't call out his destination. But Potter saw his problem and yanked him into the fire as it began to suck him in, and they managed to squeeze together close enough that they both survived the journey.

They did jump apart as soon as they landed on the other side, of course. Black was standing there with his mouth open to say something that Draco was quite certain he did not want to hear. He was saved from hearing it by Potter's fist in the older man's gut, which apparently made him think the better of commenting. It just made Draco wish again that he knew how to do that.

* * *

It was nearly an hour before Draco and Harry were able to wade into the laboratory itself, as they had to repair the stairs and clean out a path through the heavy spattering of slightly pulsating gray gunk. It was another hour and a half before they were sure that the volatile substances were contained or removed. Luckily, Draco was a fastidious brewer. All his supplies were tightly sealed and the entire room covered by Cushioning Charms that he renewed every day, so nothing had been broken or loosed to mix with the mess that had blown out of the cauldron.

When Harry was sure that the walls were not going to melt and the house was not going to catch on fire, he decided they had earned a quick break. He had grown hot from the work and stripped his shirt off an hour ago, and he now used the shirt to wipe the gunk off the two work stools that remained usable—reflecting (with remorse, as he hated shopping) that he would have to buy some new clothes soon, since he was apt to use them this way. He sank down on one with a sigh and gave Draco a lopsided smile. After identifying the ingredients they were cleaning up, Draco hadn't been terribly helpful, since he was struggling to master cleaning charms non-verbally. At least he hadn't blown the place up for a second time.

He frowned. Draco was very sweaty and grayish-looking.

"Can you talk yet?"

"Yes, I think so. Oh. Yes." His voice was hoarse and barely there. He winced and swallowed audibly.

"So you actually are sick." Harry had wondered, just a little.

Draco rolled his eyes. "My mother might be a bit over-protective, but she's not crazy enough to make that up," he rasped.

"Says the person who called her a hysterical bitch."

Draco closed his eyes and swallowed again, wincing. "She's going to kill me when I get back. I really don't have the energy for her right now."

"So don't go back yet," Harry suggested.

"Obviously not. There's still a good hour of work left to do in here, not to mention the corridor."

"Which you are in no shape to do," Harry observed. He got up and shuffled the bottles on the shelf of finished products, hoping Draco had decided to brew some potions to treat fever.

"Here, what are you doing, Potter? Just tell me what you're looking for, I'll know where it is."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I was going to give something to you, you dolt. You know, because you're sick? Although now I'm thinking I might just pop in on your mum and see if she's got any of that voice-removing stuff left."

Draco just glared at him.

"Look, just take something and go lie down for a while," Harry ordered him. "You're just going to screw things up in here if you try to work."

Draco drew himself up haughtily and opened his mouth. Then he closed it, selected a bottle off the shelf, and retreated from the room. Harry considered the matter settled, and went to find Sirius and Kreacher.

He didn't have to look hard, since they were just finishing up cleaning the hallway and the rest of the stairs. Harry was slightly stunned to see Sirius _cleaning_, but he had just as much interest in making sure the house didn't melt as Harry, to be fair.

"Oh, good," he said with a slight groan. "I thought I still had hours of work to do."

"And what happened to your chipper little sidekick?"

Harry fought back his laughter. "Oh, please, call him that to his face. I want to be there to see it."

Sirius just rolled his eyes.

"I sent him to rest. He looks awful."

Sirius spoke in a very low voice. "Have we considered the possibility that he did this on purpose? To try to kill us, or you at least?"

Harry shrugged. "It did cross my mind, but . . ." He reached into his pocket for the piece of parchment he'd tucked away when Draco wasn't looking, and handed it to Sirius. "He was actually trying to get here and prevent it, I think."

Sirius frowned at the paper. "You have to be absolutely certain. He can't stay here if you aren't."

"I am."

"Okay," Sirius said slowly, handing the note back. Then a lazy grin broke across his face. "Did you, by any chance, get to see her face when she read that?"

Harry laughed. "Yes."

"I have to see it. We need to borrow that Pensieve from— oh, right. I suppose . . . well, I wonder who has it?"

Harry's smile fell. "I think Neville got most of his things. He gave me a lot of his library, but Neville got the personal effects and everything. Well, not the money, obviously, that went into the scholarship fund. But Neville's probably got it."

Sirius put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Harry, you don't have to be upset every time Dumbledore comes up in conversation. He had a good life, and there's no reason not to remember him with happiness."

Harry nodded. "Well, except the part where he abandoned me to an abusive foster home and called it for my own good," he said dryly. "Although I was willing to accept he didn't know and work around that."

Sirius' arm had tightened up around him. "Wonder how their new life is working out for them. Do you think it's terrible?"

"You don't have to sound so eager!" Harry laughed.

"Is it too much to hope that they're miserable?"

Harry shook his head. "Me, I just don't care. I have bigger problems than annoying relatives."

Sirius sobered up at that. "True."

They both looked down at Kreacher.

"Come down to the kitchen, Kreacher," Harry said quietly. "I have to ask you a question. Well, after I get a shirt, anyway."

The three of them went down together, and Sirius and Harry cast several wards each to be sure that Draco and Simon would hear nothing. Mostly for Simon's sake. Draco knew better than to push his luck, by now.

"Have a seat, Kreacher," Harry said roughly.

Kreacher plopped down in a chair, looking distinctly displeased.

"We need to talk about Regulus."

Kreacher immediately panicked. "They cannot make Kreacher speak, no they can't—"

"Actually, I can," Harry cut him off. "I don't like to, as you may have noticed. You and I have tried to get along, and I hate ordering you to do anything. But I will. This is too important not to. Will you tell me what you know?"

Kreacher threw himself down on the floor and began screaming. "Won't, won't, won't—"

"Kreacher!" Sirius shouted, getting up and glaring down on the elf.

"No, Sirius," Harry said firmly, getting up himself. "Kreacher, stop screaming!"

The house elf was forced to comply, but he continued to pound his tiny fists and feet against the floor and there were tears streaming down his crooked old face. Harry was hopelessly at a loss for what to do. He felt cold at the idea that he could order Kreacher to do something he was so loathe to do. But he could.

"Kreacher," he said quietly. "I want to help Regulus. I know what he did. I want to finish his task. Will you help me do that?"

The wizened old creature raised up his tear-stained face and stared at Harry.

"Let's all sit back down, shall we?"

* * *

By the time the story was finished, Sirius had sunk deeply inside himself and didn't seem to notice where he was or who he was with. Kreacher had been alternately implacable and distraught, having to be coaxed along by Harry at every pause. But finally, they knew everything, and they had not forced Kreacher into it. Harry would have been perfectly happy, if not for the way Sirius sat there with his arms crossed and his eyes disconnected from what he was seeing.

Harry made Kreacher use a handkerchief to wipe his tear-streaked, snot-slimed face, then bade him to get the locket from its hiding place and bring it to him. Kreacher was willing to give him the locket, but rather more dubious abut the handkerchief.

"This is not clothes, is it?" he asked suspiciously. "Master Harry is not to be tricking Kreacher into shameful freedom because of his failure?"

Harry was exasperated. "I told you, you didn't fail, you did great. And I'm not giving it to you, I'm only loaning it."

Kreacher then complied with the request to clean himself up. "Master Harry will be destroying the locket according to the wishes of Master Regulus?" he confirmed, his voice hopeful.

"Yes, Kreacher. If you bring it to me."

Kreacher trotted off to do that, and Sirius slumped in his seat the second that the house elf was out of the room.

"Sirius? You okay?"

Sirius buried his face in his arms and dropped his head to the table. His body began to shake.

"Sirius," Harry said with alarm, coming around the table and putting his hands on the man's shoulder. "Talk to me."

"All this time— I've thought— the worst of him!" Sirius gasped. He was weeping. "Thought he was a coward. Weak. Never thought about him at all, mostly." He was sobbing in earnest, and his speech was almost too broken to understand. "All this time. But he was brave. He wanted— wanted to stop— I could have— should have— been there for him." He reached one arm around to grasp Harry's hand on his shoulder, clinging to it desperately. "You and I— you would have had a family. I'm sorry."

Harry hauled Sirius up off the table so he could look him in the eye. "You've been my family, and you've been good at it. What happened to Regulus is sad, but it _wasn't your fault_. Don't you get that?"

"Yeah, I do," Sirius managed to say, but then another few tears squeezed out of his eyes. "But it is my fault that I never knew my brother well enough to miss him when he was gone."

Harry just gripped his shoulder. After a moment, he held out the used handkerchief with a mischievous expression. Sirius barked out a laugh and waved the thing away.

"Ah, what would I do without you, Harry?"

"Go crazy, probably. What is taking Kreacher so . . . long . . ."

The elf was standing in the doorway with the locket in his hand. He'd been standing there quite some time. There was a new expression on his face when he looked at Sirius. Harry couldn't figure out what it was until he realised it wasn't much of anything. It was just so weird that Kreacher wasn't expressing his usual deep loathing and contempt.

Harry reached out his hand. "May I see that now?"

Kreacher passed it over wordlessly.

Harry felt it as soon as the object touched his hand. It was as if the locket weighed more than its appearance indicated, but he didn't think it was actually heavy. He felt a pulse of power, of a seriously twisted power. He almost threw the locket across the room to get it away from himself, but instead he clutched it closer to him. It made him shudder with revulsion, but he gripped it tight, now that he had it.

"I'm going to call Hermione. She should be here for this."

He held onto it while he called her. He would take no chances. If this locket got away from him, it would happen because somebody killed him and took it from his death grip.

"I have it, Hermione."

"Do you mean . . . well, the real one?"

"Yes."

"Where was it?"

"I'll tell you when you get here. You can come now, right?"

"Yes. I'll need a minute, I have to call my parents and tell them where I'm going. I've been very careful that someone knows where I should be, you see. Anyway, I'll Apparate over as soon as I talk to them."

Harry was grateful that she realised how important it was not to speak about it aloud over such a tenuous connexion, when anyone might be listening. He still kept the locket in his grasp while he waited for her. He found Sirius again, and was informed that Draco had been sent back to his mother's abundantly loving care, and that Tonks was coming to pick up Simon to visit the werewolves.

"I don't want anyone else here . . . just in case."

Harry nodded, heavily preoccupied. He was about to finally embark on this last step of the journey, and he found himself inexplicably nervous. What if it didn't work, or if he couldn't do it? What if they didn't find the other Horcruxes, after this one? Maybe there would be a wizard powerful enough to hold Voldemort down, but he would never die until these things were destroyed. His resilience was too much for any system to take down. Harry had to be able to do this, and it had to start immediately, before it was too late. He retrieved some of the basilisk venom, and thought that the best thing to do would be to completely submerge the locket in the liquid. As soon as his girlfriend arrived.

He played with the locket absently while he waited for Hermione, rubbing his thumb over its tarnished old surface. He dangled it from its chain, watched it spin. Then he hooked his fingernail under the edge and prised it open. A strange swirling of mist surrounded the locket, and he dropped it with a gasp, afraid that it was cursed, like the ring, that it would wither his hand and kill him, but it couldn't be because the mist was coalescing into figures, into people, and . . .

"Mum? Dad?"

The two faces turned toward him. Their eyes were red, and Harry bit back a cry of panic.

"Harry."

"Um, are you ghosts? Not that I'm not happy to see you, but . . ."

"You should not be. We are not happy to see you," the James-mist said.

"Oh. I see."

"Tsk tsk," the Lily figure clucked. "Sirius never told you, did he?"

"What?"

"That you were an accident, Harry. That we didn't plan on having children, and certainly not _you_ . . ."

"No, I guess he didn't tell me that," Harry said flatly. He was fairly certain this was some kind of trick—it was a Horcrux, after all—but he was so interested in these figures. They looked so like his parents. He couldn't pass up the opportunity to talk to them, even if it wasn't real.

"He wouldn't, would he?" James said with a chuckle. "He's always been dishonest like that. After all, he's made you think he loves you, hasn't he? He wouldn't tell you that he only keeps you out of loyalty to me."

Harry bristled at that. "Now, that I know isn't true."

"Oh, Harry," Lily said, almost compassionately. "You don't think he would have much preferred to have his own life? He had plans, of course, that didn't include you. So did we. But there you were, and we couldn't just kill you. That would be . . . wrong. But we certainly didn't _want_ you."

"We know you, Harry. We know how you are. You pretend you don't care, but you desperately crave to be loved, don't you? And yet, no one does. So sad, little Harry, so unloved . . . everyone resenting him . . ."

"Hermione loves me," Harry said firmly.

Lily laughed at that, a far more unpleasant sound than Harry would have expected. "You think so? She can tell you herself what she thinks of you."

"No," Harry said automatically, but it was too late because a Hermione figure was already rising up from the locket and forming between his parents.

"Oh, Harry."

"You're not the real Hermione," he said dismissively. "She's on her way here right now."

"I am connected to the real Hermione," the figure said. "I know her mind, as I know her body. You can hardly deny that I am like her."

As if to prove it, a swirl of that special ink-and-flowers smell wafted to him, and he was arrested by it.

"You think I love you, Harry, but it's not you I love. It's everyone else. Don't you see? You are a dangerous creature, and I have to keep you under control. I won't say that I like having this duty, but someone has to protect the world from you. You'd be a Dark Lord if it weren't for me. I don't love you, Harry, I'm afraid of you. I know what you'll become, and I'm especially afraid that you'll be too powerful for me to kill when you get out of my control . . . you know it will happen, Harry, you know how Dark you are even now."

Harry was frozen by her words. He'd tried not to listen, but it seemed so real, and so very _plausible_. Hadn't she just said, only days ago, much this same thing. She'd never said it this plainly before, but it was _true_ . . .

He moaned, feeling sick.

"Do you think that, too?" he asked, looking up at his father. "Do you think that will happen?"

"We knew when you were born that you were a freak," his mother answered.

"We had hoped you'd die in the attack. You never have done what you're supposed to do, boy."

Maybe it was the way they said "boy" and "freak" the way the Dursleys had done. Maybe it was just the confirmation that Hermione was right. But Harry stopped arguing then, just wrapped his arms around himself and stared at them in horror as they listed his shortcomings.

"Never making friends . . ."

"Rebellious . . ."

"Weak . . ."

"Running away, hiding, not facing your problems . . ."

"Ordering people around like you own them . . . that poor Malfoy boy, that poor elf, even dear Sirius who's had to put up with so much from you already . . ."

"Don't even know how dangerous you are . . . how much I fear you when I'm letting you touch me . . ."

Harry choked.

Then someone slapped him so hard it made his ears ring.

He scrambled up from his seat, gasping for breath and shaking his head violently. He lost sight of the locket-people and saw the real Hermione standing right in front of him, her hands on her hips and squarely facing her constructed self from the locket.

"How dare you use my face to tell him such things?" she hissed furiously. She picked up the locket, making the forms wail in panic, and dropped it into the vial of venomm making them disappear entirely. She gave it a vigorous shake for good measure, then threw it aside and turned to Harry. Her eyes were blazing.

"You were listening to all that rot?"

Harry blinked, not knowing about the tears welled up in his eyes until the blinking made them spill out. "You said it, just a few days ago. You said that you were afraid of what I would do if you weren't there. You said I needed you."

Hermione looked furious. "I did not say that! I said I was afraid of what would happen to you, you dolt. I know how hard you push yourself and how much responsibility you give yourself, and I was afraid that you'd drive yourself right into the grave if I wasn't there to take care of you. Don't you get it? I don't think any of that nonsense from the locket. I think that you're so _good_ at heart that you'll kill yourself for the world! You need me to help you!"

"But Hermione," he mumbled. "You know it's true, you know how easy it would be for me to turn Dark. You really don't stay close because of what I might do."

"Listen to me very closely," she said, stepping just the barest inch away from him and turning her face up with a scowl. "You _don't_ scare me, Chosen Boy."

Then she kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss, and it was not a chaste kiss. It was not any kind of kiss that they had shared before. It was the kind of kiss that in any other circumstance would have immediately led to much more. It was deep and demanding and completely passionate. Harry was caught quite off guard, but it was only a second before he was fulfilling his end of things. When they finally broke apart, it was mostly because they were out of breath.

"You hear me? I'm not afraid of you," Hermione panted, her cheeks red with the remnants of anger and exertion.

Harry put his hands on her waist and kept her against him. "Good." He sighed deeply, a smile on his face and his hands keeping her very firmly in place.

She looked up at him with confusion, then made a disgusted face. "Men!" she huffed. "One little kiss and you've forgotten all about it."

"That was not little. You've never kissed me like that before."

"I've never kissed anyone like that before," she said.

"Well, that just proves the point, doesn't it? You _do_ love me."

"Of course I do. Haven't I told you that about a thousand times?"

"You can't love someone you're afraid of," he said with assurance, resting his cheek on her head.

"I would imagine it would be difficult," she sniffed.

"Thank you for destroying the locket for me."

"Well, I wasn't just going to let you do the whole thing without me."

"I love you, Hermione," he said with great calm and sincerity. It took away her irritable responses. She just leaned against him more comfortably.

"I know."

"Hermione?"

"What?"

"Any chance we could do that again?"

She sighed and burrowed her head into his chest. "Later."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Tonks had been rather surprised when Sirius had shown up one day to request they take Simon for a few hours. He had refused to explain why, but he was so pale as to look frightened or sick, and his eyes were red-rimmed like he'd been crying. Remus had been busy, so she'd simply agreed to take Simon with her and she'd sort it out later. She'd been shocked by Simon's attitude—it was like he'd moved both forward and back, somehow. He seemed more mature, expressing his understanding of the necessity for him to be away from the other werewolves, but he'd been so intensely withdrawn that she felt like she'd lost all the ground she'd ever gained with him. He was deeply unhappy and neither admitting nor explaining it.

So when he'd gone back to Sirius and Harry that night, she'd taken a deep breath and plunged into an argument with Remus. Those tended to be the most exhausting, infuriating experiences of her life. She'd never met a man more stubborn than Remus Lupin—even when he knew he was wrong, he wouldn't let go of an idea until someone knocked it right out of him.

So they arrived at the moment in their argument: he knew she was right that they needed some way to take Simon out of Grimmauld Place and to spend time with him. But he was so adamant about Simon's safety that he refused to come up with some way for them to safely spend time together. Usually when he got like this, she could snog him into submission, but he wasn't budging this time.

"Fine!" she finally shouted, throwing up her hands. "You don't want to work this out, then that's fine! I'll just do it myself!"

It probably had to do with Gordon. But she'd never been able to live in that cautious way, thinking that because it happened to one person, it would happen to her. In fact, she'd never been cautious at all, and she wasn't about to start now, not because of Gordon or . . . or anything.

Remus maintained his stubbornness, she thought just to make a point. Probably just that he was more level-headed or experienced than she was, or something. Which was true, but didn't make her any less right about this. They ought to be compromising the safety issue with the issue of making Simon a part of the family before it was too late. His horror of harm coming to the boy was making him blind to Simon's ever-increasing distant attitude. She was _right_.

* * *

Harry and Draco had made the current batch of Wolfsbane treatment together, instead of Draco watching Harry and having it explained to him. He'd been spending so much time at brewing recently that he was beginning to recognise the principles involved in this complex potion for himself. This was the two-days-before-full-moon batch. Tomorrow, Harry was toying with the idea that Draco could deliver it by himself. He had to start doing it sometime, because it was likely that Harry wouldn't be around to help next month.

They were in the hallway, the cauldron between them, trying to make Harry's Invisibility Cloak cover both of them and the potion so they could Apparate from the front stoop without being seen.

"No, turn it back this way," Draco said in frustration. "It's not covering my legs anymore."

"Oh, hang it all, let's just go in plain sight," Harry said in disgust.

Then there was a knock on the door and they exchanged glances. It was obviously someone friendly, since Sirius had already destroyed that slip of paper with the address on it, but unexpected visitors was rarely anything good.

Harry opened the door. "Tonks? Uh, hi."

She breezed in. "Came to pick up Simon," she explained. "Has he taken his dose yet?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, we already gave it to him."

"Good," she said cheerfully. "I just thought he could use some company."

The two teenagers exchanged glances.

"What?" Then she lowered her voice and directed her speech to Harry specifically. "You told me yourself how much time he spends shut in his room. We're worried about him. Remus wants to be at the compound to supervise this—" She waved her hand at the cauldron to indicate it "—but I thought today would be a good enough day to just get him out of the house for a while."

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with this, but she seemed so utterly unconcerned. He tried to brush his brain over hers to get any sense she was lying, but she was exuding a carefree attitude. And he couldn't deny that Simon was worrying them all, a bit . . . If he wasn't begging for some time in the practice room, he was shut up in his room with whatever he'd raided from the kitchen.

Harry shrugged. "Well, we've got to go," he finally said. "We'll see you later when you drop him off."

Tonks nodded, professed herself to be looking forward to catching up with him and Sirius a bit, and clomped upstairs. Harry shrugged at Draco, threw the Cloak aside, and they moved out front to depart.

Sirius caught Tonks on the stairs, where she offered a similar explanation, which he saw right through.

"You two are in some kind of epic fight, aren't you?" he sighed.

Tonks just crossed her arms stubbornly. "I'm going to take him into Muggle London, they won't even look for us there. You know I'm right."

"Of course I know you're right, and so does he. But you can't do it this way . . ."

"Already doing it, Sirius dear. Now budge up."

He groaned and moved aside. "I'd better go over there and sort him out," he mumbled, already heading out the door to the werewolf compound. "Tonks! If anything happens, he's going to kill me as well as you! Just keep that in mind!"

Her laughter floated down the stairs. "All in the plan, dear!"

* * *

The werewolves looked good, Harry thought to himself as he and Draco set up the cauldron in front of their ring of cabins. A goodly number of them had jobs, and the garden they cultivated was doing very well. They were going through something of a tragedy, Harry gathered from their subdued manner, but were at least in good health.

But the sorrowful feeling of the place was getting to him, and he knew they weren't wearing those sour expressions solely because he'd brought Draco along today. It was driving him mad with curiosity and worry, and he had to know.

"Remus," he said casually, taking the older man by the arm and leading him away from the group gathered about the cauldron of their treatment. "What's going on?"

Sirius, who had appeared only a moment ago with no explanation of his presence, jogged to catch up with them. Harry gave him a nod, but turned back to Remus immediately.

Remus' face fell into deep sadness. "Do you remember Gordon?"

Harry nodded, thinking. "Blond, going gray, little heavy-set?"

Remus let out a soft breath. "Yeah."

"Something happened to him?"

"We don't know," he whispered. "He's one of us that was working, and two days ago . . . he didn't return from work. We haven't seen him, or heard anything. We know he would simply leave like that, which leaves only one possibility."

Harry bit his lip and squeezed Remus' arm. "They would have found a way to contact you if they were keeping him alive. They'd only do that if they wanted something from you. I know it hurts, but at least you know he's not being held somewhere and tortured."

Sirius, who had been walking on Remus' other side, added, "Make sure you remind Natalie of that."

Remus nodded. "I've been trying to tell myself it's better that they killed him right away. But Gordon is the first of my people that I've lost to this thing. I can't accept it, and I can't let it happen again."

"Now I know why you and Tonks are having such a fight about spending time with Simon," Sirius said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. He grimaced. "If I'd known about Gordon, I never would have let her go out with Simon . . ."

Remus shot Sirius a shocked look, his slow walk ceasing. "What?"  
Sirius closed his eyes. "She didn't even tell you, did she?"

"She said she was going over to your place to talk to him for a bit and keep him from feeling like we've forgotten about him. And I was going to join her over there as soon as Harry and Draco were finished. They _left_?"

"She said they were going into Muggle London. She can blend in so well, I thought they'd be fine. But if they've identified all the werewolves, they'll be able to pick out Simon, anyway."

Remus had become very pale. "You don't know where they went?"

Sirius winced as his friend's hand gripped him too hard. "No, I don't. I'm sorry, Moony."

"That woman!" Remus burst out. "I can't believe she'd do something like this! Is she an Auror or is she an idiot? She knows better!"

Sirius and Harry both held onto him.

"Easy, there," Harry cautioned.

"You don't know where they went," Sirius said in his most level voice. "I know you're not going to just wait for them to come back, but we need to think about this before we go rushing off."

Remus let loose a wild laugh. "Normally it'd be me saying that to you."

"I know. That ought to tell you what kind of state you're in. So let's come up with a plan. We can both be recognised, and probably more easily than Tonks and Simon. So that's the first thing we have to figure out . . ."

Sirius' calm words seemed to be working, and Remus, while still tense, was no longer about to leap from their hands and run off on his own. Or, he wasn't until a misty, silvery wolf came streaking across the compound, its legs flashing madly, and swirled to a stop in front of them. And spoke.

"Remus!" it said in breathless panic. "Come quick! There's six of them and I can't take them by myself!"

* * *

Draco shot a scowl at Potter's retreating back, joined as it was with the forms of the older two men. Harry was _supposed_ to be helping him dish out this potion and keep its contents in stasis while people were waiting their turn. Instead, Draco was acting the servant to a load of werewolves while Potter went for a stroll.

One of the werewolves was following the direction of his gaze and was frowning.

"That looks serious."

Neil. The man's name was Neil, which Draco ought to remember because he was so well-liked by Lupin and Black. He was doing what he could to keep himself in the good graces of those two men, since it was every bit as important to his survival as it was to stay in Potter's good graces.

Draco shrugged. "That's Potter for you. The most fun I've ever seen him have is trying to beat Black to a pulp."

"And vice versa, I wouldn't doubt," Neil said with a little chuckle. He swallowed his dose of the potion, using one hand to hold back long brown hair that was liberally streaked with gray. He frowned again. "I'd better go see what's afoot."

_Suit yourself_, Draco thought sourly. _I'll just do everything myself, shall I?_

Then a weird silvery shape darted to the group of four men and shouted in a voice that most improbably resembled his cousin Dora's. Who wasn't here. And weird silvery dog things could not sound like his cousin anyway.

Draco was ready to dismiss it all, but then his jaw dropped in shock as all four men barreled through the gates and let loose with the sharp cracks of Disapparation. The whole group of werewolves began to mutter and look very dire. Draco just sighed and kept his eyes on the potion. After all, _someone_ ought to.

* * *

Tonks and Simon were very much enjoying themselves at the Muggle arcade. Tonks had made sure she picked one that she hadn't used to frequent during her earliest stint as an undercover Auror. Simon, who'd been without any type of video game for two years and had been desperately missing that part of his Muggle life, had suddenly decided they were the best of friends again.

Tonks knew that she was going about this all wrong, and her stomach was churning with guilt over this. Remus wanted them to be safe, and having Gordon go missing had made him even more strict than normal. But she was an Auror, after all, and she bloody knew what she was doing. She and Simon were wearing Muggle clothes, and she'd even let Simon do his hair up in psychotic-looking spikes that attracted absolutely zero attention. Her favourite clunky boots (that she hardly wore now that she was engaged to a man fourteen years older than her) were a common accessory around here. She happily turned her hair bubblegum pink, resolving that she'd set it back to brown before she and Simon returned to Grimmauld Place, where Remus was sure to be waiting for them and incredibly angry with her.

Her guilt wore off as they played a few games and ate the horrid food at the snack bar. Simon had warmed back up to her incredibly well. She hoped that his good mood would last a little longer, this time. Now that he could see she and Remus were really going to put forth some effort to spend time with him, despite how busy and dangerous their lives were right now.

She didn't know how she noticed, but she figured it out right in the middle of a violent shoot-out between her and her young charge. Eyes on the back of her neck. Someone staring at her. At first she thought it was just some guy taking in her nicer assets, but the feeling didn't let up. It was her first inkling that coming here wasn't such a good idea.

"Simon," she said very softly, continuing to play the game. "Keep your eyes on the screen, but listen."

Perhaps feeling some of her tension, he only mumbled, "Okay."

"Someone's watching us."

"Shit."

"Here's what we're going to do, okay? You're going to win this game just as soon as I finish talking—" and now she was praying with all her heart that the person watching them did not have the famous WWW Extendable Ears "—and we're going to walk out of here just like nothing is wrong. I can't take care of the problem with all these Muggles around."

"But you can take care of it, can't you?" he whispered, his eyes tight and anxious as he continued to look at the screen.

"Of course. But you need to stay out of the way, okay?"

"I can help," he said with a frown.

"Simon. A month of Harry's training does not mean you're ready to face this kind of fight. You barely know which end of a wand to hold and I've never seen you land a punch yet. I'm not ragging on you, Simon. I'm just saying that you're not ready for this. I need you to let me work."

"Fine," he grumped.

"There's an alley right next to this building. We'll walk into there, but you'll duck right back out of it as soon as the other guy follows us in. I'll take care of him."

"All right."

Tonks stopped shooting and seconds later was letting out a load, theatrical groan. "Oh, you got me good," she said, slapping Simon on the back. "I can't believe it!"

Simon did not know how to act, especially not under threat. "Um," he mumbled.

She just kept her hand on his back and started guiding him out. "Come on, we'd better make that the last game. We're already late getting back."

Which was true enough, but they'd been having too much fun to notice before this trouble had cropped up. Tonks led them swiftly out of the arcade, dodging the crowd of teenagers with the ease of practice rather than any innate grace. She avoided all of the people only to slam her knee into a trash bin near the door.

"Ooo," she moaned.

Simon, despite his tension, snickered. He'd gotten to know her quirks of clumsiness by now. All in all, it was good that he was laughing. Too much tension and the person following them would know that they were on to him. Tonks limped directly around the corner and into the alley. As soon as the hulking man came into view, she shoved Simon back out of the mouth of the alley toward the street, where lights and prying eyes ought to keep him safe.

Simon slammed into a veritable wall of bodies. "Oh," he whispered, staring at the ring of men with huge eyes. "Oh, shit."

"I'm in for it now," Tonks mumbled. The bright, leering eyes of six men topped six grins—three of them with the most disgustingly discoloured and sharpened teeth. Greyback's feral pack. Not good. She immediately sent out her Patronus to her fiancée, the only thing she could think of to do at this point, and then shouted, "Simon, come here!"

He stumbled back half-blind, looking shocked and pale.

"Behind me, now," she said tersely, and held her wand up. "Who wants to try me first?" she said with bravado, hoping it was too dark for them to see her knees knocking.

They just laughed.

* * *

There had been no words spoken between them, just a sudden rush to get out of the anti-Apparation wards, then Remus was following the trail of Tonks' Patronus (stronger for him than for them), and they were desperately jumping into the wake of his passage and hoping to end up in the same place.

Harry cracked into being beside the other men, his wand still hidden until he knew where they were. They were on the street in front of a Muggle arcade, and Harry wasn't immediately sure what they were doing there. But of course the attackers, or maybe Tonks herself, had cast notice-me-not charms all over the place by now. They might be fighting for their lives an inch in front of Harry's nose. But likely they would be . . .

"There!" Sirius barked out, rushing forward toward the dark alley. Everyone else was right at his heels, while he cast the spells that would allow them through any barrier that might have been put up. As they entered the mouth of the alley, they were suddenly able to see everything.

There was a man slumped on the ground at Tonks' feet, and she was trying to hold two other men at bay while maintaining the curse she'd placed on a fourth that was on his knees in front of her, pale and sweating and glaring at her with his teeth clenched against his screams.

"Not nice, what you're doing to Jugson," one of the men said with a foul smile as he danced past her spells.

"Afraid Gibbon and I are going to have to punish you for that," the other man agreed.

"Maybe we'll feed you to Creedy and Blake there," Gibbon said, almost giggling.

Two dirty-looking men, presumably Creedy and Blake, had hold of Simon's arms and were laughing with good humour at his frantic attempts to free himself. They were large, rangy, and ugly. Obviously Greyback's wolves, and the unconscious bloke probably was another.

Simon was wild. "Leave her alone!" he raged, his feet lashing out with stunning accuracy. "You can have me, but let her go!" His foot connected with one man's shin, and in his moment of pain, Simon jerked his arm free, which he used to elbow the man in the gut and cause him to stumble back. It was a short-lived victory, since the other man twisted both Simon's arms up behind him and savagely bit into his shoulder. Simon screamed.

Tonks was being overcome. But there was no need to worry about that. Remus was running, flat-out running, and he launched himself on top of the man called Gibbon with a hoarse yell.

"Don't you _touch_ my family!" he snarled, grabbing the man by the hair and slamming his head into the dirty asphalt. Then he leapt on the second attacker, who was just staring at him with shock. They hit the ground and rolled, throwing blows and spells alike.

Sirius and Neil had quickly made sure of Tonks' two victims, and were now dueling the man who had been holding Simon (either Creedy or Blake, though the man himself was likely the only one who cared). Simon, free of his captor, stumbled toward Tonks and fell into her arms. But the other werewolf was about to throw himself into the fight.

"I could use some help, Blake!" the one dueling Sirius and Neil shouted. Creedy, then.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, taking Blake's wand quickly. The werewolf just bared his teeth and began rushing at Harry.

Harry was carrying the Elder Wand. He had decided to begin using it to get an affinity for it, and he'd expected to use it for nothing more than simple work today. He certainly hadn't anticipated this. And he was certainly not going to lose it if Blake had designs that way. He shoved it back into his arm holster, dropping Blake's on the ground and stomping on it to break it.

Blake howled, pausing in shock at the sight of the splintered ends of his wand. Then he rushed forward again. Harry waited. Blake lunged forward, swinging one of his huge, long arms like he was going to sweep Harry's head right from his shoulders.

Harry moved by instinct, each thing a separate piece and yet still all part of the same graceful destruction.

He ducked under Blake's punch, and grabbed hold of the swinging arm. He turned, while Blake barreled on. He yanked upward sharply while he planted his feet. He could both hear and feel the snapping of Blake's arm. Harry placed his other hand and twisted again, both splintering the bone and dislocating the shoulder. Blake went mostly limp. Harry wanted to be sure. Holding Blake by the hair, he slammed the man's face into the wall a few times.

Harry dropped Blake's moaning form.

A spell shot past his shoulder.

His Shield Charm slammed into place with a speed bred into him by countless ambushes from the DL.

He turned and saw that Sirius and Neil were still trying to bring down Creedy. Creedy had backed up almost into Harry, but Sirius and Neil were too focused to concern themselves with Harry's safety. They trusted him to take care of himself.

And so Harry did. His shields were barely enough to block out the flying spells, but he remained silent . He dodged and ducked and crept his way forward until he was directly behind Creedy. Then he wrapped his right arm around the man's throat and locked it there by gripping his right wrist with his left hand.

Creedy's eyes bugged out and he windmilled his arms, trying to get at Harry and free himself. His spells immediately ceased. Harry used his foot to hook Creedy's ankle and yank his leg out from under him, pulling him backward with the straining arm over his throat. Creedy fell back on him, and Harry went down on his knees, leaning back, never loosening his hold. He sank down to the pavement, almost as if he wanted to cradle the other man's head in his lap. But he stayed in a crouch, and kept the leverage he needed to maintain his grip. Creedy's arms flopped, then twitched, and finally stilled.

Harry cautiously released his hold before he actually killed the man. He was unconscious, and his throat was so bruised that he'd be in a complete panic when he woke up. Harry cast a Body Bind on both of the two men with quick efficiency.

Sirius and Neil had watched this all with surprise, and now they all turned to Remus. He'd gotten the upper hand on the as-yet-unnamed man who'd been attacking Tonks, long since. He'd also cast aside his wand. He was simply beating the man slowly to death.

"Remus," Neil attempted. "Stop!"

The man was fixed on what he was doing, eyes frantic with fear and rage.

"Remus!" Sirius roared.

Remus looked up, seeming confused. The other two men reached down and hauled him away from the slightly mangled man moaning beneath him. He allowed himself to be lifted up and set on his feet, a safe distance from his victim. He finally saw Tonks and Simon standing there, arms around one another and watching him silently.

He looked down at his own blood-spattered hands with horror. He made a vain attempt to wipe them on his shirt. Then he fell right onto his arse on the ground, making no effort to stop himself, and just sat there, breathing heavily and staring at his hands.

Tonks approached. "Remus, it's okay now."

"Dora?" he said, as if he didn't know it was her.

She knelt down beside him. He recoiled. She cautiously took one of his hands and looked at it. "Oh, dear, your hand is all torn," she said in a quiet, sympathetic voice. "You'll have to get it fixed up."

He nodded dumbly. "Dora, are you all right?" he asked. "You and Simon—are you hurt?"

"No, darling," she said tenderly, kissing his raw knuckles. "Thank you for coming."

"I didn't even think . . . they were hurting you. Hurting my family."

"I know."

Neil stepped forward. "Let's get this situation contained, all right?" he said brusquely. "Tonks, you need to get in touch with your office and get some Obliviators out here, there had to be at least a few Muggles who saw us fighting. We need a whole squad of Aurors out here to make these arrests."

His no-nonsense tone seemed to wake Remus up, and Tonks let him go so that they could deal with the aftermath of their fight. Rufus Scrimgeour himself came down to oversee the arrests and get Tonks' report, and told them all good work in a rather disbelieving tone. Well, who would believe that a schoolteacher, a teenagers, and two unemployed misfits could take down six Death Eaters, with or without one of his top Aurors?

And he really didn't like Harry. The young man was cajoling and steadying his shaken friends, and answering the Aurors' questions, dealing with the now-arriving press . . . not seeming to care that he was in danger just by being in public. Scrimgeour was beginning think his rival in the next election was not to be Amelia Bones.

* * *

They declined the suggestion of medical attention, believing (and rightly so) that the hospital was less help and more exposure to a second attack. They went back to Grimmauld Place to sort themselves out, knowing that their injuries from the scuffle were minor enough to be treated by Draco's stock.

Draco was there when they arrived, working in the room that had ceased to be a makeshift temporary solution and more like an actual Potions lab. He stood up from a stool as the group tramped in, eyes wide with shock.

"What were you lot _doing_?" he asked in awe.

"Fighting," Tonks said grimly. "And get used to this sight, that's what we keep you around for, cousin."

They all said that Simon should be treated first, but Draco was not a Healer and was really only useful in being able to quickly locate the supplies he'd laid up. Harry stepped in to treat Simon's ravaged shoulder, familiar with this scenario. Sirius had scrupulously avoided werewolf bites during his stint as guardian in Austria, but he'd been bitten by vampires enough. Simon should have relaxed as he basked in safety and the relief of pain, but Harry could feel that he was still wound up tight.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, hearing the others talking amongst one another and hoping Simon would be honest in this small window of privacy.

"I know you have things to do, but I need to learn how to fight. Soon."

"Ah," Harry said, patting his good shoulder. "I don't think you'll get any arguments. Sirius will teach you."

Tonks went next. She'd been struck by something that left burns streaking across her lower ribcage, her knee was badly bruised, and there were claw marks on her calf that she wanted cleaned out in case they got infected. Harry and Draco dispatched her quickly, and also made short work of Neil's minor burn, which looked like Tonks' but grazed his hip and thigh. Sirius had been subjected to some kind of cutting curse, which had opened several gashes on his face. Harry closed them quickly and Draco surrendered some of his supply of dittany, but it seemed likely to scar. His friends were dismayed on his behalf. Far from caring, Sirius thought that was great news.

"It matches my collection, see," he joked, fingering a savage leftover from a vampire bite on his neck, and tracing several long remnants of werewolf claws down his forearm. "I'd show you the rest, but our relationship isn't that serious yet," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Neil.

Harry strongly suspected he was more bothered by the possibility of scars on his cheeks that he was letting on, but it was something he wouldn't care to discuss until he and Harry were alone.

And then came Remus. They'd left him for last, because he was a mess. His scraped knuckles were the least of his worries. One of his ankles was hot and swollen, his face had turned into a lumpy, red-purple mask, and he was bleeding from myriad small scrapes. He'd also been hit by a curse that had caused oozing welts to spring up all along his arms and chest. It took all of them to figure out how to treat that. Remus sat there placidly while they worked on him, so quiet and withdrawn that Harry was afraid he was thinking something stupid. Up to Tonks to sort him out, he decided. That was her job, now.

"All right, Potter, enough with the heroics," Draco snipped when Tonks led Remus downstairs. "Your turn."

Harry frowned, and began patting himself down. "Uh . . ."

Draco stared at him. In fact, so did Simon, Neil, and Sirius.

Harry didn't have a mark on him.

* * *

Remus sat on the couch, curled up to Tonks' chest, and trembled. "I'd forgotten," he muttered. "I'd forgotten what this was like. I haven't been in a fight like that since I was twenty years old."

Tonks, still riding a high of fear and adrenaline, giggled a bit hysterically. "I just finished Auror training and started doing all this fighting when I was twenty."

Remus made a face. "You really do love to point out the discrepancy in our ages."

"I'm only beating you to it," she said, kissing him softly on the forehead. "You make enough fuss about it."

He grasped her hand, far too hard. "Dora," he said fervently. "When I saw the danger you were in . . . I couldn't think anymore. I was so afraid. I don't even know what happened. I thought I was afraid, and then I was tussling with that man and beating him like I was some kind of savage . . . what have I done?"

"You saved me," she said quietly, wincing as her hand began to throb. "I would have died if you hadn't come."

"But what I did to him . . ."

"You beat him up, Remus. So what? You could have done it with a wand, and instead you did it with your fists. Either way, you did what was necessary to put a stop to what he was doing."

"I can't see it that way."

"That's because you're afraid of yourself, and I'm not."

"You're not afraid of anything," he said with a distinctly sour note in his voice.

"Don't," she said sternly. "Just don't."

"How could you, Dora? You just took Simon out like there was nothing wrong. You knew that you could have been in danger, and you acted like it didn't matter."

"I can't live like that!" she snapped. "I can't sit and wait for the apocalypse to land on my doorstep! If it comes, I'd rather it came while I was out there, living my life!"

Remus dropped his eyes to his mending hands. "So you think that I'm a coward?"

"No," she said. "I think you've got a lot of demands on you and that you're doing an admirable job of meeting them. But it can't last forever, and I'm afraid that you're losing touch with things outside the compound. You promised that you were working so hard at getting the laws changed because you wanted you and the other werewolves to become more integrated into society. But you're drawing away, instead."

"Am I?" he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Dora. I know I am. I just . . . there are so many people depending on me, and I want to keep them safe. The Death Eaters aren't the only enemies we have." There were tears in his eyes. "I've been fighting to be treated like a human for a long time. I was so tired, and so close to giving up, before I met you. You're the reason I kept going. And now I have to find the strength to keep up the hope of all those other people. Now we're in this war, and every step forward we make is nulled by reports of Greyback's men, and it seems hopeless . . . it's gotten easier to retreat."

"Easier doesn't make it right," she said, but she was clinging to him, taking the sting from her words with the embrace. They weren't arguing, and she wasn't having to talk him out of a deep depression in which he believed he was a monster. They were making progress.

"No, it doesn't. If I forgive you for turning the rest of my hair gray, will you forgive me for being selfish?"

She snuggled into him. "I suppose I have to. For the baby's sake."

With a contented sigh, he laid his cheek in her hair. Then his arms stiffened around her. "What did you say?"

"Despite Auntie Narcissa being so disapproving of you, I think she'll be rather disappointed that we have to rush the wedding."

He pulled back and stared at her. "The wedding? Baby?"

She nodded, her lips trembling as she tried to hold back her tears. She wasn't ready for this, she really wasn't, she was only twenty-three and she still had years in which to make mistakes and cause mayhem before she settled down, but she loved him so much that it made her feel like she was tearing in half . . .

"I'm pregnant, Remus. Are you going to make an honest woman of me, or aren't you?"

He gaped at her, his mouth open in shock. She felt her tears beginning to leak out. Merlin, she hated crying. His hand rose up to cup her cheek, smearing her tears.

"Don't cry," he mumbled, still in shock. "You're . . . we're going to have a baby?"

"Yes."

He cupped her face with hands gone strangely gentle, staring at her. A light began to glow behind his eyes, and the corners of his lips curved up.

"I have never met a woman more honest than you are," he proclaimed. "But I'd like to marry you anyway."

"How's next week?"

"Next week?"

"It would be nice to have a honeymoon before I'm too far along to enjoy it."

He glanced down at her flat belly, but his hands were still on her face. "Good point."

They sealed it with a kiss, and the past weeks of fear and arguments and hurt simply disappeared.

* * *

Barty Crouch had lived a great deal of his life in misery. Misery, he was finding out, conditioned one to receiving disappointments but did little to prepare one for experiencing abject fear. Which he was currently experiencing. The perks of being one of the most trusted servants of the Dark Lord were counterbalanced by several rather large drawbacks. The aftermath of delivering bad news, for example, had never been good.

Their master was not here yet, and Barty caught Severus staring at him from his place in the corner. He was gloating over the fact that it was not his turn, somewhere under that implacable exterior. He wouldn't be so calm if he had to be the one to tell their master what had happened . . . Barty focused on his anger against Severus Snape. It did some to lessen the trembling that had set in.

He had to be the one to tell, because he was the one who had issued the orders. It would have been Bellatrix, but she had said that no one was so stupid as to make such a public appearance, and that it was obviously a trap. But Barty had thought he was so smart . . . Said six of them ought to be able to fight it out. Do damage, if nothing else. And since the only allies he believed that their target had were werewolves, he'd been certain that sending three of Greyback's men would do the trick.

He'd been so eager to tell their master what he'd done for him. It would be such a huge blow to the morale of the enemy to lose a woman and a child. It would prove that none of them were safe, so much more clearly than Greyback tearing apart that fool Gordon. But there was nothing to be eager about now.

Death Eaters were always composed, always restrained (except Bellatrix, who hardly counted), and they never showed fear. They couldn't afford to appear weak in front of one another, because they knew all too well that the others would exploit their weakness—knew it because they would do it if the situation were reversed. But Barty was beyond that, now. He had to tell the Dark Lord just how badly he had failed, and the punishment to follow would be . . . beyond comprehension.

Barty put his head down and breathed heavily, trying not to throw up. Bellatrix was almost laughing, while at her side, her husband sneered at Barty. Lucius was just giving him a cold look. But Severus abruptly stood up and left the room. _Can't even be in the same room as a little weakness?_ Barty thought to himself. He'd never know that Snape had left because he entertained thoughts of trying to save the man and was ill at the thought that there was nothing he could do.

Seconds later, their master strode into the room, his usual regal bearing in place. He swept his eyes over them. "Where is Severus?" he asked peevishly.

"Left for a moment," Yaxley volunteered.

The Dark Lord's eyes swept the room, and came to rest on Barty. "What has happened?"

He was breathing heavily, and he was pale, and sweaty, and shaking . . . he stood up, held up his head, and steadied himself. He would face this punishment with dignity. He had failed, and he deserved this, but it didn't mean he had lost his pride completely.

"I have failed you, my lord," he murmured. And he spilled out the story of discovering Nymphadora Tonks and Simon Billings on their own, of sending Jugson and the rest to take them, and then stumbled his way through the outcome of that attack.

His master took a deep breath, causing his odd, slitted nostrils to flare. He was holding back his ire, but Barty could see it flashing in his eyes and his trembling became worse than ever.

"What you are telling me, Barty, is that you have caused six of my loyal Death Eaters to be injured and arrested. And that by so doing, several of our secrets are now known to the Aurors and the Ministry. You are telling me that in your eagerness to please me, you did not consider any of several possibilities that Bellatrix obviously did consider, and pointed out to you to show you the error of your thinking."

"I have failed you, my lord," Barty repeated, and went to his knees.

"Most disappointingly so, Barty." His voice was almost caressing, like cold silk. The anger he had was building up, obviously so, but he sounded almost . . . kind. "And the consequences shall be tremendous. I am sorry that it has come to this, after the trust I placed in you."

Severus couldn't avoid the room forever, and eventually all of the loyal Death Eaters were there to see Barty's pain and listen to him scream. None of them enjoyed it. Barty was placed so high, was such a loyal servant, but none of them could deny that the foolishness of his actions deserved punishment. And none of them could stop their master, in any case. They could only sit in stony silence until it was over.

In the end, Severus and Lucius were the ones who volunteered to bury Barty's body. No one else was willing to touch it.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Hermione was quietly studying her NEWT-level Transfiguration textbook, feeling frustrated in spite of herself. She wasn't going to be taking this exam. She couldn't shake her feelings about that, no matter how much she wanted to. Harry was more important to her, _saving the world_ was more important to her. She'd made the choice. But she still clung tightly to the urge to study. Whether she had the certification or not, she would be well-educated. No ifs, ands, or buts.

She heard the knock on the front door, but her parents had taken the afternoon away from their practice to prepare a dinner for some friends. The knock was probably a delivery from the specialty grocer on the corner or something.

But her mother's voice sounded hesitant when she spoke to their visitor. Hermione would not have heard a word, but her mother's tone made her sit up and take notice.

"You're . . . you're Harry, then? Hermione's boyfriend?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger."

"Yes, it is certainly is. Hermione, love, your Harry is here!"

Hermione was instantly panicked. Why on earth was Harry here? After what had happened to Tonks and Simon, he should know better than to be out in public like this! She hurried out to meet him, knowing that Harry would have a damn good reason for being here and anxious to discover what it was. Had something happened to Sirius?

"Oh, there you are," he said in a relieved tone. He was still on the doorstep.

"Mother, at least let him come in," Hermione scolded.

Her mother looked worried. Hermione thought it was because she'd been told enough to realise Harry wouldn't be here if something weren't wrong. But then Hermione was stopped by Harry himself. He looked . . . nonchalant. Perfectly relaxed, in fact.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

"I needed to see you," he said, stepping in when Mum moved back. "I had a really hard night, and I thought it would help if I came here."

This was delivered too casually. He was obviously trying to tell her something about a dream from Voldemort, but couldn't because Mum was here. But that still didn't make sense, he would have wanted her to come to Grimmauld Place to talk.

"Of course," she frowned, motioning him to follow her. "Let's go talk in the kitchen."

He stepped closer to her, looking relieved. "Thanks." He bent his head down to kiss her, and she smiled, despite herself. He loved to nuzzle his face in her hair. But wait . . . he was coming down to kiss her mouth? Harry wouldn't just do that without warning, with no gentle hand on her shoulder or around her waist . . .

She ducked her head so his lips landed on her cheek, and forced herself to smile up at him as she led him to the kitchen. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought he must be able to hear it. She tried not to let him see her hands start to shake.

Her father was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. Hermione felt like her vision was going narrow, and was made dizzy by the sight of those rhythmic flashes of knife— no! She was not going to faint, not now!

"Dad, this is Harry. Harry, my father."

"Nice to meet you, sir."

They shook hands, after Dad wiped his hands on a towel. Hermione tried not to throw up.

"May we have the kitchen for a bit?"

"Hermione, dear," her father said sternly, eyeing his dinner preparations.

She clenched her jaw and looked at him. "Dad, you know what I just realised? We don't have that tea that Harry likes. I know you and Mum had to pop down to the store for something, so would you mind going now so you can get the tea?"

Her dad gave her a long, searching look, and she looked back as fiercely as she knew how. Of course he didn't know what tea, but the hard expression she gave him kept him from asking. She didn't know if he'd see her desperation and fear, or just think she needed to talk to her boyfriend privately, but her father trusted her. With reluctance, he nodded.

"Of course, dear. We did need a few things, so we'll go now."

At her side, Harry looked upset, but when she beamed up at him, he smiled back.

"Sorry the tea will have to wait a few minutes, but the store is just there on the corner. You don't mind?"

"Of course not," he smiled.

"Let's sit down, then," she said. She heard her parents putting on their jackets in the hallway. _Hurry_, she begged them. She forced herself to brush her hand over Harry's arm as they sat down in the breakfast nook, praying it would stall him just another moment. Her heart was thumping so hard now that it hurt. Her pulse was threatening to carry her away. Then the front door closed, and she drew a deep breath. She looked into the beautiful, clear green eyes she loved so well, and tried not to shudder in revulsion.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He frowned, but it changed quickly to a snarl as he realised he was caught, and they both stand up, drawing their wands at exactly the same time.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" he shouted.

She flung herself onto the ground and felt the spell sizzle over her head. _Oh Merlin, oh no_. He wasn't wasting time.

She was almost underneath the table. "_Reducto_!" she shouted, pointing her wand directly over her head, and rolled herself out of the way. The table exploded upward in a shower of splinters, and the disguised Death Eater shrieked as the bits of table caught his face, neck, and arms.

"_Stupefy_!" It. bounced off him and careened toward her. She rolled again, and clambered up to her feet, knowing she couldn't fight from the ground for long.

It was so eerie, to watch Harry grin at her with wicked pleasure. This man was playing with her, certain that he could kill her at his leisure. She was only young, after all, and inexperienced. But he, much as he pretended to, didn't know her.

"_Relashio_!"

He blocked it, and sent a curse that she barely dodged, light whizzing past her that shattered the kitchen window.

"_Stupefy_!"

He dodged it, and countered by slashing at her. She blocked it, but he cast the Sectumsempra furiously, biting into the walls and cutting the dishwasher in half. Water gushed out.

Hermione saw an opportunity. She caught the water pumping out, pushed it all in his direction while casting the most powerful warming charms possible, so that he was blasted by a jet of boiling steam. He screamed in pain, his skin turning viciously red and his hair dripping hot water down his back so that he writhed in pain. He waved his wand and swept the steam away, but the water kept pumping out of the bisected appliance. The floor was becoming flooded.

Then he hit her with a curse that stripped her throat instantly raw. She tried to speak, and only a hoarse croak issued forth. And it _hurt_. Her throat was on fire, and she could feel hot tears run down her cheeks. And he was smiling at her like he was enjoying it. It wasn't as if she were in any doubt now, but that more than anything convinced her she was not dueling her boyfriend. He would never have that look on his face, not when seeing a person in pain.

"Now, my pretty thing, since you are unable—," he began, then his eyes opened in shock, and with a howl he tried to grab at his wand with his left hand as it flew from his right, but he missed.

She caught it, and returned that wicked grin. She didn't need her voice, and he was a fool to think so. A jet of red light flew from her wand and knocked him straight into the wall. He looked up at her with confusion, groaning. She stood over him, panting for breath.

"They're coming," he muttered. "When I don't return, they'll come."

Hermione felt another leap of fear. This wasn't over. She had to finish this and get out. She silently Petrified him. Making sure he saw it, she snapped his wand over her knee and tossed the pieces through the jaggedly broken kitchen window. Then she ran.

She didn't pause to take in the destruction of her home. She didn't see the slashed wallpaper, curling down the wall, or the shattered dishes that had fallen when the bottom of the cupboard had been sliced off. Didn't take in the chunks of table that littered the flooded floor. She just ran.

Her parents were already inside the grocer's, but she didn't care about making a scene. She ran straight to them.

". . . . think they're having an argument?" she heard her mother say. "Maybe we shouldn't have left them alone to— Hermione!" she cried out.

Hermione threw herself at her parents, and began to frantically drag them toward the door.

"Dearest, what's happened?" her father said, reaching out his hand and touching it to her face. His fingers came away red with blood. She hadn't known she'd been hit, and wildly wondered if it was from the table or from his curses. Her clothes were dripping with water, sweat, and blood, and her hair was full of splintered wood. Her parents were just staring at her. Along with every other patron in the store.

She just yanked on them again, trying to get them to follow her. They had to go _now_.

"Did Harry do this to you?"

She struggled to speak, and felt herself crying again from the torture of it. "Not . . . Harry . . ." she rasped. "Disguise. Hurry. Run."

Completely bemused, they followed her out of the store. She led them around the corner to the back of the store, where it jutted up against a complex of houses. She just hoped no one was looking. One parent in each arm, she Apparated directly to the front stoop of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

She could barely make her trembling hand into a fist to knock on the door, but she did it. Her parents were clutching each other and fighting dizziness, looking green. The door opened, and there was Harry, _her_ Harry, the _real_ Harry.

"Hermione," he said in shock, taking in her appearance. Not grinning at her pain. Looking scared. She fell into his arms and began to sob. He held her in one arm and used the other to yank her parents inside. He slammed the door shut behind them, then turned his full attention to her, holding her close. "Shh, you're all right now. Hermione, shh. Don't cry. It's over. It's all over." He looked at her parents. "What happened?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Mum said in a faint voice.

Dad was just as shaken, but it came out angry. "You, boy, are what happened. You came to our house, and she sent us to the store, and then . . ."

Harry shook his head in denial. "I haven't gone anywhere. Hermione?"

"Polyjuice," she whispered past the pain in her throat. "Looked like you. Got ingredient . . . from school, maybe."

"Who?"

"Don't know. Fought him off. Said more were coming. Ran."

"You're hurt," he said softly, seeing the blood smeared on his shirt. "Come with me. Sirius! Sirius!"

Sirius appeared in the hallway, looking like he'd come from the study. "What is it?"

"Take these two into the kitchen. Maybe give them something for shock? I have to take care of Hermione."

"Hermione, what happened?" Sirius asked in alarm.

She just shook her head, leaning against the steady rock of her boyfriend.

"I don't know everything yet, but it seems like a Death Eater managed to disguise himself as me and got into their house. Hermione fought with him."

"Is he dead?" Sirius asked immediately.

She shook her head mutely.

"I'll go."

"No," she croaked. "Reinforcements. Too late."

Sirius scowled, then gave her a terse nod, and turned to her parents. "You're Mr. and Mrs. Granger? I'm Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and one of Hermione's professors. Why don't you come with me into the kitchen? I'll get you some tea or some coffee . . ."

Hermione gave the staircase a dull look when Harry led her over to it. It looked impossibly tall. So she didn't protest when he scooped her up and carried her, stomping on the stairs and shouting, "Draco!" like it was some kind of emergency. It was just a little cut, after all . . . Well, now her head was throbbing, so maybe she'd bumped it or been hit by the table. And her throat did hurt pretty awfully. And she thought she might have broken one of her fingers when she'd rolled on the floor. Maybe it was a little bit urgent.

* * *

Harry idly played his fingers through Hermione's hair as he looked over the documents Sirius had procured. He hadn't let her out of his sight since she had arrived with her parents three days ago. Her parents had been utterly shocked by the whole thing, and were understandably angry about not being allowed to go home. But Harry certainly wasn't going to argue about having his girlfriend right here, where she was safe, and she didn't seem to be issuing too many complaints herself. Even if he was ever so proud of her, he didn't think she needed to do it twice.

Sirius had taken a few members of the Order down to clear up the water and fix the broken window and table so that no one would know anything was wrong. Moody had arranged for someone to watch the house that first day, but they all agreed it was pointless. She'd gotten away, and she wasn't going to be dumb enough to come back. Surely the Death Eaters knew that and wouldn't be returning, either.

"They look perfect," Harry said with satisfaction, returning the documents to their envelope and setting it on the arm of the sofa. "Did you get the plane tickets?"

Hermione nodded, and leaned into him with a sigh. She knew what needed to be done, but she didn't really want to talk about it. Of course, she'd been horrified when Harry had pointed out all the things she was leaving out of her plan— birth records and identification cards, bank accounts, motor vehicle registration. The plan was to make her parents think they were someone else, a couple with no children who were dead set on opening up a new practice in Australia. Hermione hadn't really thought about all the things that went into being a legitimate person with the ability to open a business. He had no doubt she would be able to perform the magic required, but she'd be leaving her parents in quite a fix without all this.

Luckily for them, the person Sirius had gotten the identification for Harry Black remembered Sirius, and was willing to work with him again. He'd rushed the delivery, as well, for a small (okay, huge) fee.

"I don't want to do this," Hermione whispered. She was cuddled against his chest, almost lying down, staring at the wall.

His arms, so carefully wrapped around her, tightened just a bit. "I know."

"They don't want me to do it."

"They don't? I thought they said they understood."

"They do, and they're okay with going, but . . . they want me to come with them. They say they won't do it unless I come along."

Harry was silent, trying to think of what to say. On the one hand, he thought it would rip his heart right out of his chest to lose her. But if she was so far away, so hidden . . .

"You could, you know," he said softly. "Go with them. If you decide to do that, I won't argue. Having you safe would be very comforting to me, to say the least."

Hermione didn't even bother to turn around. "We've been over this."

He kissed the top of her head. "We have. Can't blame me for trying, though."

She sighed, and rested her hand on top of his. "I love you."

No more needed to be said.

Harry was going to stay with her throughout the process. They were going to do it in front of the Granger's dentistry practice, with a cab already on the way to take them to the airport. Harry and Hermione would stay under the Invisibility Cloak so they wouldn't have to explain their presence, and they'd Apparate as soon as the cab had gone.

But first, they just rested there, while Hermione prepared herself to reach into her mother's brain and make her forget she had a daughter.

* * *

"They knew we would respond, so they were wearing masks to make identification impossible," Kingsley continued, his voice dulled by the horror of his report.

Amelia had long since dropped her head into her hands, but she was listening. As best she could while dealing with her fury and thinking, _Not this, not again. It's just like last time. No, it's worse than last time._

"When we arrived, they had already killed two of the Muggles they were attacking. The Aurors prevented any further Muggle death, but Dawlish was killed in the fight." Kingsley must be as exhausted as she was, to say that without even flinching. He'd worked with Dawlish. But he just continued on, in a heartbreakingly hollow voice. "The Muggle bodies had sustained injuries that could be explained as an automobile accident, so we staged one of those for the police to discover. The Muggles who were still alive were Obliviated and sent on their way. We did capture one of the attackers, though. He was taken alive."

Amelia picked her head up. "We have a Death Eater?"

"Yes, Minister."

"What has he said?"

"Nothing, yet. He refuses to talk."

"Well, dose him with Veritaserum!" she snapped. "This is no time for niceties, Kingsley! We need to know if there are other attacks on Muggle shopping centers planned, among other things. Here," she riffled through a stack of forms in her desk drawer, withdrawing the one that granted rights to use the potion during interrogation. She scrawled her signature across the bottom and thrust it toward him. "Here."

She felt a little pang about using it. Only the Wizengamot should be able to decide on the use of Veritaserum, but she had been forced to call a state of emergency two weeks ago, when Hogwarts had begun its autumn term. Severus Snape, the slimy bastard of a new Headmaster, had declared that only pureblooded children could attend the school this year. And Death Eaters had begun targeting the homes of those who were barred from school. The entire Ministry was working around the clock to keep those children safe. They stopped the attacks when they could, set up impromptu classes on defense for those who wanted to learn, helped others go into hiding. Some were fleeing the country, entirely, and just how _that_ was going to make magical Britain look to the rest of the world . . .

Kingsley was just looking at the parchment, sort of befuddled. She knew he was tired, and upset about the loss of Dawlish, but they really had no time for this.

"Kingsley! Take this and carry it out at once!"

* * *

He could see the piece of parchment waving in front of him, and he knew she wanted him to take it. His arm came up slowly, like it was moving through some thick liquid. Had to act normal, had to arouse no suspicion . . . But it was time. The time had come to fulfill his purpose in coming to work this morning. Minister Bones was making things awfully difficult for them, and he had to fix that.

He stood up and drew his wand. One simple spell, and this enormous problem would be taken care of. She wouldn't trouble them anymore.

"Kingsley?" she was saying in a very different voice. Not so impatient now, was she? Not at the point of his wand.

"I'm sorry, Minister," he murmured. Then he blinked. He _was_ sorry, wasn't he? He shouldn't be sorry. He wanted to do this. He was supposed to kill her. But why? Why would he want to kill his boss? That didn't make any sense, did it?

"Kingsley, snap out of it!"

No, this was necessary, of course. She was an old woman who snapped at everyone and expected to get her way, and it was causing people to die and be put into prison. Yes, she had to die. Of course. But that still didn't seem right.

"_Avada Kedavra_," he mumbled, and a pathetic green fizzle hit her desk and caused a curl of smoke to rise from it.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, you fight this off, do you hear me?" she was shouting, and she had her own wand out now.

Fight what off? He wasn't sure. Fight her?

"Minister?" he tried to ask.

"Kingsley, listen to me. You have been placed under the Imperius Curse, do you understand? You don't want to kill me. Someone else had ordered you to do that, and I know you are much stronger than them. Fight off that curse, Shacklebolt!"

Oh. That made so much sense now. Yes.

With a tremendous effort, he thrust off the feeling of moving through liquid, thrust away those confusing feelings of wanting to kill her. He didn't like killing people. Of course not. He was a good person! He was an Auror! Well, now he was Undersecretary to the Minister. And he certainly wasn't going to _kill_ her, what a foolish notion.

Abruptly, his legs gave out. Luckily there was a chair next to him, and he managed to drop into it. His wand clattered to the floor.

He stared at her in shock. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, feeling himself go cold. "By mighty Merlin, I never thought . . . never thought they could get to me. Are you all right?"

"All right? I'm fine! You're far too strong for that silly curse to work, you couldn't even manage to ruin my desk!" she said briskly. But she was pale and there was sweat on her forehead.

He carefully squeezed his hands together. He was sort of numb. They sat in silence, because she was patiently waiting while he struggled to find something to say. "Minister, I think it might be best if I resign right now. This was far too close a call . . ."

"Don't be ridiculous," she sniffed. "You are far too useful to resign. I need you."

"Minister, I almost killed you . . ."

"Come now, Kingsley, I thought I told you to call me Amelia," she chided. "You can't possibly think that would work twice? They won't attempt to put you under that curse again."

"No, but it does mean someone here at the Ministry is a Death Eater," Kingsley pointed out. "And they could use me to get to you in some other way."

"We already knew we had that problem," she argued. "Those Death Eaters know far too much about what goes on in my Ministry. However, using you to get to me would be much less problem if I stopped coming in to the office. I shall simply work from home."

"Minister, that is not a good idea," he said carefully. "The public needs to see you presenting a strong front."

"The public needs to see me not getting murdered in my office."

He flinched, feeling cold all over again.

"Oh, do perk up, Kingsley. There is a Death Eater in a holding cell, and you have a parchment granting permission to interrogate him. I should think we'd find out a way to plug up this leak in the Ministry if you'd hurry along to use that permission."

She was a very formidable witch, indeed. Kingsley felt himself beginning to smile. "Right away, Minister."

"And then you will take the rest of the day off," she ordered. "And you will spend it strengthening your mental defenses. If you resign, your replacement is likely to be much more vulnerable than you, did you think of that? You had better recover from this and be back on form tomorrow."

"Yes, Minister."

"If you ever try to kill me again, Kingsley, I shall have to fire you."

Now he did smile. "Yes, Minister."

"I told you, it's Amelia!"

* * *

Sirius had the _Daily Prophet_ hovering at eye level in front of his breakfast when Harry and Hermione came downstairs to find something to eat.

"Please tell me you didn't go out to purchase that," Harry said.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "What do you take me for?" he demanded through a mouthful of hot cereal.

Harry and Hermione shared a look, and they held back their laughter.

"I asked Draco to start bringing it over when everyone is finished with it at the Tonks'. I get all the news from the Order, but I want to know what the press is saying."

"Nothing relevant, I'd wager."

"You'd be losing money," Sirius cautioned.

"Really?"

The two young people sat down at the table and started browsing through the pages that Sirius had finished reading.

"They're actually taking things seriously, aren't they?" Harry said in wonder.

"As long as you're reading between the lines," Hermione agreed.

"They're afraid to come out and say what they mean, when it could get them killed. They have to be cautious."

"Then what's the point of saying anything?" Hermione sniffed.

"Look at this, Miss Garnet has an article on the second page! And it isn't even about me!"

Hermione made a face at him.

"I can't help being front-page news," Harry smirked. "It's not my fault." Then he glanced back down and frowned deeply. "Do you see this?"

"Minister Bones . . ." Hermione started reading. "She hasn't shown up in her office. Did she step down? Has she been taken? How is it that not a single person seems to know why?"

"Wouldn't say not a single person," Sirius observed, his own eyes still on page six hovering in front of him. He spooned in another mouthful of his cereal.

"Nobody said anything about it at the Order meeting last night," Harry protested. "How do you know?"

"You noticed how agitated Kingsley was, didn't you?"

"Yes. I thought it was because his job was rather stressful of late."

"I won't argue with you there."

"Sirius! Just tell us and quit acting so superior just because you already know."

"I'm not," Sirius said, looking away from the paper and turning troubled eyes on Harry. "I'm just not sure whether or not to say anything."

"Who are we going to tell?" Harry snorted. "Draco?"

Hermione ducked her head to hide her scowl. She didn't find that a very amusing joke.

Sirius sighed. "Someone got to Kingsley. They had their suspicions that there was a Death Eater in the Minister's office, but now they're certain, because someone got close enough to Kingsley to put him under the Imperius."

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

"They tried to force him to kill Minister Bones."

Harry nearly tore the paper when his hands clenched shut. "Is she dead?"

"No," Sirius assured him. "She saw what was happening, and he was too strong for it, and she got him to fight it off. But it shook both of them up, to say the least. So she's going to do everything she can from her house, which she's hidden. Kingsley has a way to contact her, but he's the only one in the Ministry who does."

"Why did he tell you, if he wasn't going to tell the rest of the Order?" Harry asked shrewdly.

Sirius shrugged. "They thought someone should be able to find her, just in case. The Death Eaters probably can't use Kingsley again, so they might decide to just get rid of him and try to deal with his replacement. The Minister, and Kingsley, wanted someone else from our side to be able to warn her if that happens."

"And they picked you because they're absolutely sure of you," Harry guessed.

"Sometimes it pays to be such a good guy," Sirius said with a grin.

Hermione giggled.

"Why is that funny?" Harry asked. "You know you can't encourage his pathetic attempts at humour."

"It's funny because he was a convict for nearly fifteen years, and now he's the only person the Minister trusts apart from her own Undersecretary."

Sirius had to chuckle at that as he got up to rinse out his bowl. Harry just smiled and kissed her cheek.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked her.

"Eggs," she said decisively. "And toast. I'll help."

"You'll sit there and relax," Harry countered. "Tea?"

"I can make tea," she insisted.

"I know you can, but I want to make it for you. Read the paper with Sirius."

She sighed in exasperation and reached for page three. She'd been a little bit sad about sending her parents away, she couldn't deny that. She'd felt rather miserable and wretched that day, in fact. But she was not so delicate that she needed to be waited on to keep her from falling apart. She said as much in a little huff under her breath while Harry clattered around with the frying pan. Sirius heard her.

"He feels like he needs to do something, to prove how much you mean to him," Sirius said softly.

"What? Why? I know that he loves me."

"Think about it. You are giving up your whole life, everything you value, for him. Your parents, your education, your home . . . you set that all aside to be with him right now. You can see that he's feeling like he's not giving you enough in return, can't you?"

"I don't want anything in return," she countered. "He gives me _himself_. That's enough."

Sirius looked sad. _For how long?_ he was thinking. _How long is that enough before you need some safety and some freedom, as well? No one can go on like this for long._ He didn't say it aloud, which was fortunate. Hermione would likely have slapped him for it.

Hermione set the paper aside after only one more page, and looked over at Harry. "Things are getting very ugly out there," she said.

"I noticed. Attacks on Muggleborns have skyrocketed. The Ministry can't keep up."

"So we'll start looking for the two missing Horcruxes today?"

Harry was buttering their toast, and his hands paused. A dab of butter slid off the knife onto the counter. "I thought you might need some time to recuperate."

"My parents left two days ago, Harry. We need to get to work."

"I know."

"My well-being can wait. This war can't."

"I know," Harry muttered, and the knife scraped over the bread again. "I just didn't want . . ."

Hermione rose from her chair, walked over to him, and kissed him carefully. "I know, Harry. I love you, too."

* * *

"I think we need to leave," Harry said. They were in his room, with Hermione sitting cross-legged on his bed and him in a chair beside it. Their notes about Horcruxes were spread out around Hermione, confirming for them what was left to do: locate and destroy the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw artifacts. Kill Nagini the snake. And then they could take on Voldemort.

"Leave?"

"You and I are at the top of Voldemort's priority list, now. I think we need to go. He'd rather pursue us than pursue anyone else in this house. I know it won't make a huge difference, but if it keeps them even nominally more safe . . ."

"He'll focus all his efforts on getting into this house, so long as you and I are in it," Hermione said slowly. "But he'll redirect it to locating us if we leave. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes."

"Then you're right," Hermione said. "With the number of people who know this house, and the number of people Voldemort will set to finding it, it's only a matter of time. We have to leave for our own protection, as much as theirs."

"Got it in one," Harry said with a sad smile.

"Where will we go?" Hermione asked calmly.

Harry climbed onto the bed to hold her. "God, I love you," he muttered. "I can't believe how strong you are."

"I think I'm going to fall apart when this is all over," she said. "But I can't afford to now. So, where will we go?"

"I think our best bet is to just go off the map entirely. Take a tent out into the woods and not use magic at all except to set up defensive wards around our campsite."

"I hate camping," Hermione sighed. "Okay. We'd better start packing. What should we take?"

"Some things to cook with. Bedding. Clothes. Some non-perishable food. A hatchet for firewood, a fishing rod and tackle. Um . . ."

"Book on edible plants," Hermione stepped in smoothly. She was scribbling their list down on a sheet of parchment. "No magic, you say?"

"Can't be spotted if we're not using it," Harry said grimly.

"Okay. Waterproof matches, then, and kerosene lantern with a few extra canisters of fuel. Bug repellant. We can sort out clothes and things as we go. Let's make a list of books we'll need."

Harry settled down next to her with his arm around her waist, watching the list grow as they discussed what they needed. Hermione said they didn't need to worry about size. She knew a spell that would make a single bag hold everything. Harry didn't doubt her. In fact, he resolved to watch her perform it so he'd have that very handy knowledge for his own use. He tried to keep the list small, anyway. He felt they'd be moving around a lot, and he didn't want any unnecessary clutter.

When the list was nearly complete and they were ready to start packing up, Hermione looked up at Harry with a frown.

"How is Voldemort going to find out we're not here anymore?" she asked. "This will all be sort of pointless if he comes here looking for us, anyway."

Harry nodded. "I think we'll be able to tell him."

She frowned, and tried to get him to explain, but he wouldn't say anything more. They got started packing right away, but even with all their efficiency, it still took them most of two days to gather everything together. Hermione was correct; size was no problem. They shoved some very cozy bedrolls and thermal sleeping bags into her bookbag, along with food, supplies, and gear. It might be a little awkward to retrieve, but it was light as feather.

"My good luck for dating a genius," Harry said, and kissed her forehead.

"I was thinking the same thing," she grinned.

* * *

They tried to say goodbye to Draco, but he was acting especially sarcastic and bitter, so they mostly just waved from the doorway. Harry shook hands with Simon and made him promise to study hard. To his surprise, Simon thumped him on the back and stepped away with a suspicious sheen to his eyes. They decided not to risk going to the werewolf compound, and made Simon promise to say goodbye to Remus and _Dora_ (who couldn't really go by Tonks, now that she was married) for them.

Sirius saw them to the door. He'd been almost silent the whole time they were packing, to the point that Hermione had thought he was angry with them. She'd especially thought he was angry last night, when he and Harry disappeared into their practice room for almost two hours and then went straight up to the Potions lab to treat their injuries. But when Harry shouldered their bag and turned to give him a final farewell, Sirius' silence broke.

He grabbed Harry into the tightest hug she'd ever seen, so hard that it made her hurt just to see it.

"Goodbye, kiddo," he said hoarsely. "Your mum and dad would be so proud of you. I know I am. I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Harry replied, sounding just as scratchy. "It's been almost ten years, did you realise that?"

"I've never let you out of my sight since then."

"I never wanted you to. But I have to go now. You've given up so much to keep me safe. It's my turn."

"I'd argue with that, but you're twice as stubborn as your mother ever was and I know you wouldn't listen."

"I love you, Sirius."

"I love you, too."

Harry finally, reluctantly, stepped out of his embrace. "We have to go."

Sirius reached out much more slowly to pull Hermione into a hug. He didn't try to squeeze her to death, thankfully. She was already crying, she didn't need it to be any worse. "Take care of him. You're a good woman, Hermione."

"Thank you," she sniffed. "I will."

"Goodbye," Harry said softly, and they turned for the door. Just when his hand fell on it, Sirius gripped his shoulder.

"Harry. Come back, okay? Just come back."

Harry didn't turn around. "I will."

They stepped through the door and shut it behind them, and Harry slumped against it for a moment, gathering himself together.

"Ready?" he whispered.

She nodded. She tried not to let herself show how nervous she was. She'd been so shocked and dismayed when Harry said the Death Eaters were watching this street, and had been doing so for days. They'd been spotted, somehow, when they were sending her parents off. The Death Eaters hadn't found a way to get to the house, yet. But they knew it was on Grimmauld Place.

They stepped off the porch.

"No, Sirius took the cat, remember?" Harry said. "We're the last ones out."

Hermione sighed deeply. "I'm going to miss that house."

"We all will, but it's better if we abandon it. Ready?"

They clasped hands and Disapparated, trusting that someone had heard their conversation. They appeared first in Hogsmeade, and immediately Disapparated again to appear at her house. They jumped in quick succession to all of the places most familiar to them, five times in a row. Then, finally, they directed themselves to the place they'd picked out. In the forest, miles away from any road, with a river running by.

They held their breath when they arrived, and kept their hands locked together. Tense and straining to hear any noise, they waited. Nothing. Little by little, they began to relax. It was nearly five minutes of standing still as stone before they agreed (whispering and feeling a bit silly for doing so) that they hadn't been followed.

They set to work. They spelled the whole area with every defensive ward they had been able to look up in two days' time, which turned out to be a lot. Even working together, they were at it for several solid minutes. Then they cleared off a nice flat space of ground and rid it of rocks and got to work setting up the tent. It was a wizarding tent, with plenty of space inside despite looking like a pup tent on the outside.

They crawled inside. There was room enough to stand up once they were through the tiny entrance. Hermione grabbed on to Harry and breathed deeply.

"I just can't relax," she confessed. "I know it worked, and we're well-hidden, but . . ."

"I know," he said, rubbing his hand in a circle over her back. "I'm still on edge, myself. But we're going to be all right. Now let's get our beds set up and our gear out, before it starts to get dark. We can go pieces in a little bit, but we've got some work to do first."

"Okay," she said, grateful to have the distraction.

They decided not to get out anything they didn't immediately need. They didn't want to have to pack it all up again, if they had to leave in a hurry. Harry said he wasn't hungry, and Hermione's stomach was too tight to eat, so they left all the cooking gear in the bag. The tent ended up looking rather sparse, that night, with just a little pile of clothes, their lamp, and their bedrolls.

Hermione began to climb into her bed, but gave the whole arrangement a doubtful look. She wouldn't be able to sleep like this. It was too dark, too quiet . . . too lonely.

"You know, it would be far more comfortable if we stacked these pads on top of one another, and zipped the two sleeping bags together," she suggested.

Harry gave her a soft smile. "I suppose it would be."

So they arranged it that way, and she crawled in when Harry gestured for her to go ahead. They had napped together three or four times, now, but this would be the first time they deliberately lay down to sleep for the night in the same bed. She knew she was blushing terribly when Harry slid in beside her, but he didn't say anything to tease her. He just gave her hand a little squeeze, lay down on his side, and left her with some space to breathe and get her bearings.

It was wonderfully cosy, both of them tucked down inside the giant sleeping bag they'd created. Hermone turned on her side so that she was facing the same direction as Harry, and hesitantly slid one arm over him so that she could comfortably snuggle up against his back. He lay very still for a moment, then put his hand over hers.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said.

"Goodnight."

Ten minutes later found her tense and unable to sleep.

"Hermione? Are you still feeling afraid?" Harry asked sleepily.

"Yes."

"I'm going to turn around, okay?"

She moved her arm, and he slowly turned over so that he was facing her.

"We're safe here. We did very well today. You don't have anything to be afraid of, just now. Let's get some sleep."

He put his arm over her, let her head settle just under his chin, and began rubbing his hand over her back like he had earlier. She released a deep sigh, and finally felt the tension begin to leave her.

"I'm going to protect you," he murmured, and then they both drifted away.


	17. Chapter 17

**_A/N_**_: I have a confession. I left my outline for this story behind somewhere around chapter seven, and I've been writing by the seat of my pants ever since. But don't worry. I've now created a new outline for the remainder of this story. The last chapters of this tale are going to be pretty jam-packed, as this one is. I hope you all enjoy the ride!_

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Chapter Seventeen

By morning, they hadn't been attacked, so they assumed they would be safe staying in one place for a few days. Harry went fishing, and they set up a camp stove to cook. Harry had thought ahead about what might be available when foraging for food, and had reckoned on fish. They therefore had their choice of frying it in cornmeal or steaming it under a Bubble Charm with an option of herbs. They chose herbs, since it was simpler, and opened a can of mixed vegetables to go along with it.

Sitting on a fallen tree, with another large hunk of wood as their table, they talked.

"Malfoy had at least one. I think it's possible he could have had more than one."

"That's true, but wouldn't Riddle have rather spread them out more, to lessen the chances of their being discovered or damaged?"

They agreed on that, and set to figuring out who else might have been given guardianship of a Horcrux. They had decided to call Lord Voldemort by his given name, Tom Riddle. It was part of Harry's campaign to make him more human and less of a giant they couldn't overcome. After all, he would say, this entire business was about making him as human as possible so he could effectively be brought to justice.

"Who's his closest servant, though?" Harry said when Hermione began bringing up too many names. "I know he trusts Snape implicitly at this point, but he probably wouldn't have back then. He was too young."

"Who are you thinking?"

"I'm going back to the beginning. I think the Lestranges. Bellatrix has _always_ been his most devoted servant, and she's a really skilled witch, as well. He would have trusted her with a Horcrux, if he was going to give it to anyone."

"You're right. Do you think it would be in their house?"

Harry shook his head. "What the Order has gathered is that they don't have a house anymore. The only property they have left after their stint in Azkaban is their Gringotts vault."

"Where do they live, then?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

"I think at the Malfoys. It's Death Eaters headquarters. I think Riddle stays there, as well."

Hermione shuddered. "Can you imagine sharing a house with him?"

Harry poked at his food, sickened by the thought of Voldemort living in a spare bedroom in Grimmauld Place. "No. But I bet that's part of the reason Draco finally shut up and grew up."

"Eat," Hermione chided him. "You're going to need it."

Harry obediently ate, despite being not at all hungry. "It's in their Gringotts vault."

"You think so?"

"Seems likely."

"Do you have a plan?"

"I have the beginnings of one. I don't even know how . . . this is going to be a lot of work. There are so many people, every step of the way, and I want to protect who I can. We're going to need help."

"Harry, what on earth are you thinking of?"

"Deception," he answered simply. "Layers and layers of it. With any luck, they won't even know it's gone until the war's over." He began shoveling food into his mouth without a lot of chewing. A dangerous proposition, since neither of them was particularly good at cleaning a fish and he was swallowing a lot of bones.

"I said eat, not choke," she scolded. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I brought a lot of ingredients, so we can brew what we need, but it's going to take forever to prepare."

"Why don't we just go back to the house to see if Draco has any?"

Harry frowned. "I don't want to go back there unless we have no other choice. Besides, we didn't have any when you and I left, so it'll take him just as long to prepare as it would me."

"Do you mind telling me what we're preparing?"  
"Polyjuice Potion. And then . . . Well, we can use a mundane disguise at first. We just need to get in and out of the owl post office without being recognised, just long enough to send a letter to Ron."

"Ron Weasley? Harry, you'd better start explaining yourself."

At her stern look, Harry marshaled his thoughts into order and told her the plan. They first, prelimary stage of their plan, they were able to carry out while they waited for their Polyjuice to brew.

-o-o-o-

_Dear Neville,_

_I am hoping, first of all, that you are well and that your duties are not causing you to rupture anything important. Head Boy, I shudder to think. Believe me, mate, you're the one doing all the hard work, and I don't envy you the responsibility you've accepted._

_That said, I know why you're doing it, and I would never suggest you don't have the devotion necessary. I know better, just as I know better than to waste your time just to ask you how you're doing. Actually, the reason I'm writing is simply to ask you to deliver the attached letter to Ron Weasley. I have a request to make of him, and I thought it would be by far better for him not to attract attention by receiving unexplained post from strange owls. Believe me, this is as far as I mean for you to go: just deliver the letter to Ron, and don't ask questions. With any luck, neither of you will actually be put into any danger. _

_Thank you, Neville. Keep your chin up._

_Harry_

Neville found himself blinking back tears as he read the letter from Harry. Mostly, the tears were due to the sting of the salve Seamus was rubbing into his wounds. Those damn Carrow siblings were a terror, make no mistake. But Neville was satisfied with bearing the brunt of their cruelty. These marks on his body meant that a third-year Slytherin girl had gone back to her dormitory unharmed, after asking the wrong question. Her safety at his expense had gotten him into a shouting match with Veronica, about how she could protect her own house. He'd said it didn't matter, she said it did, he said he was going to protect any student who needed it, and she yelled back that he was wearing enough scars from trying to save his own bloody housemates. He'd been touched when he'd figured out that she was yelling at him because she was upset that he was hurt.

They were the only thing standing between the little kids and the atrocities of this new administration. They were taking that seriously. It was nice to know that Harry was taking it seriously, too.

"Who's that from?" Seamus asked in curiosity, kneading the salve into Neville's shoulder and making him gasp.

"No one," he answered softly.

Seamus had learned not to argue when Neville said something like that. They sat in silence in the near-empty Room of Requirement—the only safe place to treat something received as punishment. The students collectively refused to allow Madam Pomfrey to get herself into trouble. She wanted to treat them against strict instructions to let them suffer; those in the know would find their way here and those that weren't DL would make do in their dormitory with their frightened and clumsy roommates.

When Neville was feeling better, he went back to his own dorm room, to find that Ron had let Ginny in there again to do her studying. They'd gotten used to seeing her there, her books spread over Harry's empty bed, since the two Weasley siblings had ceased to let the other out of their sight unless they were in class. No one objected. They understood. If Neville had siblings, he'd want them nearby, as well.

However, he wasn't sure if Harry wanted Ginny to see this letter. So he waited until Ginny slipped out to use the lavatory to give Ron the parchment folded up inside his own letter. He hadn't read it. He knew he wasn't supposed to.

-o-o-o-

_Dear Ron,_

_Sorry to spring a surprise on you, but I need your help. I have a plan in the works, something that will go a long way toward defeating this nasty character I keep hearing about. I know that your involvement is a risk, and I'm trying to protect everyone I need help from, as much as I can. So, really, what I'm saying is that you shouldn't ask questions about the plan. If you can help me with this one thing, you will have done your part._

_I had considered leaving you out of things, but I need to get into your family's house. I thought you might have an easier time sneaking inside than I would. I cannot tell you what I am going to do with it, but I need to procure your father's hair. I'd ask him personally, but it's like I said: I want to protect everyone who has any part in my plan. I'd rather he not even know. Likewise, I want you to sneak into the house and get this without telling him so that he doesn't know of your involvement._

You have some time to figure out a way to sneak out of the school and procure the hair, while I work on another step in my plan. Then I will contact you again. It will not be through Neville, next time. I really hope that you will be willing to do this. But I will understand if you are not. This is a huge risk that I am asking you to take, and it is also a risk to your father. I wouldn't ask if I didn't already know how committed the Weasleys are to this fight. But as I said, I will understand if you can't do this. If you choose not to, simply ignore the next letter, and I will find a way to do it without you.

I don't mean to insult you or anything. I just mean to tell you that I am sorry for asking so much of your family. I'm afraid we won't be able to communicate properly, so just wait for my next letter. It may be a couple of weeks before I send it, and when I do, it will be spelled to be read only upon being touched with a wand and having a password spoken. The password is, for my own sentimental reasons, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Just hang on to the hair, once you get it.

I hope you're surviving school, Ron, and I hope Ginny is okay. I wish I was there to help.

Harry

Ron was indignant at the idea that he might choose not to do his part. Not help! Like some weakling or coward! A small, rational voice at the back of his mind told him that Harry's interest in his father's hair was not for any lark. There were few reasons a person would want such a thing, and Harry's plan was likely to put Dad, and therefore the rest of the family, in danger.

Ron looked at Ginny, sitting Indian-style on Harry's old bed, trying to do her "Muggle Studies" homework without throwing up. Despite how fiercely he was trying to protect her now, they'd all chosen this. They'd all chosen this danger, because they knew it was right. Ron wouldn't change his mind, and so this must be done. Whatever it was. Ron wanted to know more. He didn't care what Harry said about protecting people, Ron wasn't asking for protection.

He went to find Neville, and they went to the Room of Requirement. It was hours of applied concentration to the task before they finally managed to create a safe passage from the castle. And boy, but Aberforth Dumbledore was surprised to see the two of them stumble into his pub.

-o-o-o-

_Dear Ernie,_

_I must apologise up front for sending you this letter, because I know it is likely to cause you some worry. But I would ask you to keep your worries to yourself. I am in the middle of executing a plan that will strike a major blow to You-Know-Who, but I need the silence of everyone whom I must ask to be involved. I know I can trust you, because Neville and Ron trust you._

_Your part is very simple. All you need do is deliver the attached letter to Ron Weasley. I simply didn't want to have attention drawn to him by his receiving letters from unknown owls, since I need him for something else. Thanks for your assistance, Ernie. Keep fighting, as I know you have been. You are doing everything I wish I could be. The end is in sight._

Harry Potter

-o-o-o-

_Dear Ron,_

_I know it's been almost three weeks, and I hope you're not panicking about the length of time. I had a few things I needed to prepare before I was ready to execute the next stage of the plan. Now I'm ready. If you haven't been able to get your father's hair, ignore this letter. If you received it from any hands but those of Ernie Macmillan, ignore it. I know I spelled it to open only the password, but my paranoia is reaching new heights. If it wasn't Ernie, throw it away and throw that hair away._

_If you are ready, then we need to meet. I will have one other task for you, if you are willing. Please be at the edge of your home's ward boundaries, on the side nearest Ottery St. Catchpole, at eight o'clock this Tuesday evening. I am hoping that you will be able to have someone cover up your absence for an hour or two (assuming someone is keeping close tabs on you like that). As much as your first task might have seemed disagreeable, I imagine you'll like the second task I have for you even less. I'm just going to need your trust, until this is over._

_I won't wait at the meeting place for long, on the chance that you didn't receive the letter or that someone intercepted it en route, somehow. (A very unlikely possibility, but I might have mentioned that I'm getting paranoid.) Make sure you're there at eight o'clock._

_Thanks for doing this, Ron. Once it's safe to talk about, I'll make sure you get some serious accolades for this. For now, you'll have to live with my unending gratitude. I hope to see you soon._

Harry

-o-o-o-

They had tried to bake bread on top of their fire. It had risen all right, hardly even flat, but the bottom was burnt black. Hermione was slicing the bottom off the loaf and simultaneously studying the seventh level in the Standard Book of Spells series. She was not slicing into her hand—not yet.

"Hey," Harry said softly, and placed his hands over hers. "Let me do that. I want you to look over this letter to Ron before we eat."

She turned her head, face in a puzzled frown with having her concentration broken. "You're funny, you know. You're perfectly capable of composing a letter."

"I know I am. I just like you to know everything."

That got a smile from her. She handed over the knife and took up the letter. Harry glanced at the page she had her book open to, and got quite distracted by the text. He didn't cut himself, although he did jump when the spell they'd set on the pot of soup started chiming to indicate it was hot enough.

Hermione looked up from Harry's second letter to Ron, and said, "Okay, you can send this." She couldn't help but feel a slight pout forming. "Why don't you ever mention me?" she asked quietly. "That is . . . I'm not looking for praise. But I am a little bit hurt. I know you're not ashamed of me or anything, but you didn't say anything about me to them."

Harry was immediately at her side, his arm around her waist and his lips in her hair. The soup could boil over, for all he cared. "Don't start that, now," he scolded. "You are doing by far the most important part of this."

"Brewing the potion?"

"We did it together. We are doing all of this together. And that's why it's more important than anything they do. You're here with me. You love me, you hold me together. You let me love you." His arms around her were tight with strain and worry. "I didn't mention you because I want to protect you, too. If I can erase every sign that you were here at all, I'll do it. You're too precious to lose, Hermione. Don't you see that?"

"No," she said quietly. "But it's nice to know that someone can see it." Her hands stroked over his tense back. "I don't want to lose you, either. So save some of that protection for yourself, would you?"

"I keep telling you," he said with a cocky smile. "I'm not going to die in this fight. I'm going to win."

Hermione smiled and laid her cheek on his chest. "That's right. You are."

"We are," he corrected. "We'll mail this tomorrow. Let's eat."

They ate, and they rinsed their dishes in the stream that ran by their campsite, then settled down by the fire to study for several hours. The Polyjuice Potion was ready, it needed only the final ingredient, but that would have to wait until Tuesday. They didn't practice any of the spells they looked at, since they were trying to avoid using magic whenever possible.

Harry looked up from a book with his eyes feeling raw from the smoke of the fire he'd built. He honestly didn't mind this living rough—it was rather cosy. But it would be nice to not have to brush ash off everything they owned whenever they wanted to use it.

"Let's go to bed," he said with a yawn. "I want to get up early, post the letter to Ernie quick enough that it will come at breakfast."

So they did. After that first night, they'd seen no reason to change their sleeping arrangements, and now they were quite comfortable with sliding into their gigantic sleeping bag. No blushing, no awkwardness. It was the best sleep they'd ever gotten, laying there with their limbs entangled and not a trace of shame.

-o-o-o-

Harry and Hermione waited cautiously under the Invisibility Cloak until the figure was close enough to see clearly. He looked like Ron. He walked like Ron. Didn't necessarily mean it was Ron. But he was here at the appointed time, just outside the property boundary of the Weasley's family home. So they took the cloak off and stepped forward, fingers itchy for their wands.

"Harry, Hermione," Ron said in surprise. "Wow, it's really good to see you two! Everyone's been worried!"

Harry gave him a very sober look. "Tell me something. Tell me what I gave Sirius for Christmas the year your father was in the hospital."

Ron looked shocked, then he nodded in understanding. "Some of the twins' products, wasn't it? Skiving Snackboxes, I think." He crossed his arms. "And what did you give me that year?"

"It was a broom servicing kit, but you didn't deserve it, I'd already let you stay in my house."

Ron grinned, held out his hand. They grasped hands, and thumped one another on the back. Ron offered Hermione a more delicate handshake.

"No one's seen you since Minister Bones got elected over the summer. I wasn't sure if you two were together somewhere or not. Are you with Professor Black?"

"Not right now, no."

"Hermione and I are . . . we've separated ourselves from the others, to keep them safe. Anyway, we're glad to see you're doing all right. We haven't had a way to hear any news, lately, but I was worried about what things were going to be like at school this year."

Ron's smile fell. "There's a radio station you can listen to, a private one Lee Jordan's running that requires a passcode, but the news is all bad."

"Tell me, anyway," Harry asked.

Ron soberly related the situation. The attacks targeting Muggleborn homes were the least of it. With Minister Bones not able to appear in public, the Wizengamot was rapidly taking over, and there were either Death Eaters or people under the Imperius curse among them—or so it would seem, based on their legislation. And at Hogwarts . . .

"It's awful, right now. Purebloods only, and that means people are missing their friends and classrooms are missing some good input. Not that the classrooms are exactly a place to learn, anymore. The curriculum is all about blood purity, now. Muggle Studies has been made mandatory, and it's a joke. I mean, I always thought Muggles were funny, but I know they aren't _cattle_. Defense Against the Dark Arts is the worst, though. It's not Defense anymore, just Dark. People are required to use the Cruciatus Curse on the other students. We're supposed to practise it on people in detention. It's ruddy awful. And if you refuse . . ." Ron shook his head, his face drawn with strain.

"Has anyone been badly hurt?"  
"Just Neville, so far," Ron said softly. "He steps in whenever being Head Boy allows him to, and sometimes even when it doesn't. Both he and Veronica do it, especially when it's one of the younger kids. And Madam Pomfrey isn't allowed to treat us, so we take care of each other. We're not exactly experts, you know? He's going to wind up looking like Mad-Eye Moody by the time this is all over. And Veronica refuses to let him be some kind of lone hero, and it's making her all noble and not-Slytherin. The two of them are at each other's throats, all the time, but they've been able to protect the little kids, so far. All of us prefects do what we can . . . When one of the teachers was torturing Ginny for sticking her nose in for a younger student, I almost got myself killed. Ernie and Terry were holding me back and telling me I couldn't help."

Hermione had pressed herself into Harry's side, her eyes full of tears. Harry put his arm around her and wished he could burrow into _her_ and be comforted. Ron looked weary, and Harry knew it could only be worse for Neville. He thought of those little first-and-second years, watching in fear while the older students were tortured for their sakes, and he bit down on his tongue. He couldn't help. Not now. He had other work to do.

"Ron, I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "I'm working as fast as I can to bring Voldemort down, so we can end this. I promise."

Ron nodded. "Let's do this, then," he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a glass vial that would normally contain a potion. He continued to hold it, instead of handing it over. "What do you want with this, Harry? Why my dad?"

Harry shook his head. "It's better you don't know."

"And my dad? Shouldn't he know what you're going to do, acting as him?"

Harry frowned at that. It was something that had been troubling him. But having no truth to reveal, if dosed with Veritaserum, was the only way he could think of to protect them. He shook his head and pulled out a vial of his own, this one containing a potion.

"I need you to get inside tonight, and slip this into something your dad is eating or drinking."

Ron accepted the vial, opened it, and sniffed it cautiously. "Harry . . . this is poisonous."

"It's very mild," Harry explained. "It will make him sick, but only for a day or two."

"Why?"

"So that he's home from work. Just leave a note, somewhere he'll see it right away, that he's going to be seen at work tomorrow morning and then he'll go home sick."

Ron stared at the vial in his hand. "Harry, no."

Harry was dismayed, but not surprised. Ron had every right to refuse. He'd have to change his plans. Maybe he would be able to penetrate the defenses around this home, himself. Maybe there was someone else who worked for the Ministry he could use, even if there was no one else he trusted.

"I won't poison my father. Not until I know why."

"What?" Harry asked. He'd half-expected refusal, but not this.

"I will go along with what you want to do, but only if you tell me the plan. In fact, I want to help with the rest of it."

"No," Harry said adamantly. Beside him, Hermione opened her mouth, but shut it again when he said, "No way."

"Why not?"  
"Because it's best if you aren't able to talk about it. If you don't know, you can't say, and you can't be harmed for your involvement."

Ron held one vial in each hand, and looked stubborn. "Did I tell you that I had Neville induct me into the Order of the Phoenix? He's part of it, you know."

"Yes, I knew he was. I didn't know you were."

"I'm of age. I can make my own decisions about my safety and just how far I want to go to save us. I'm already doing things that could get me hurt or killed. Our new professors would love to kill me just for what I'm doing as a prefect. So this isn't going to be the one thing that signs my death warrant. I want to help, Harry. Surely the two of you can't do everything on your own?"

Harry looked down at Hermione, who was looking up at him with a strangely calm attitude. She seemed to think it was a good idea. And Harry had to admit, there were a few stages of this plan when an extra pair of hands and eyes would be needed.

"It's going to take some time. What are you going to do about explaining your absence at school?"  
"Easy," Ron shrugged. "Dean can't attend this year, so he's taking Polyjuice and pretending to be me for a couple of days, until I get back. He and Seamus have been spending a lot of time holed up in the Room of Requirement, treating the wounded and keeping each other company. Seamus wanted to do it, but he couldn't get my voice right."

"You already arranged this?"

Ron grinned.

"Stupid, stubborn prat," Harry muttered. "All right. I'll tell you the plan. But first go in there and slip this to your dad. Take my cloak."

-o-o-o-

Getting into the Ministry had been easier than any other part of the endeavour, so far. He was a little nervous, but that was all to the good, since he was supposed to be coming down sick. He allowed himself to be a little pale and clammy.

It was surreal, walking around inside someone else's body. He'd been in disguise, but never quite like this. He'd never actually walked around in someone else's skin. Arthur was taller than him, flabbier, and he had big feet. It felt awkward.

But Harry wasn't here to contemplate the oddities of the Polyjuice potion. He was here to get something. And since Ron had talked him around to including Arthur Weasley in his plans, it was going to be much easier. Harry had been armed with the name of a man in the Ministry whom he knew to be a Death Eater, since Snape and Sirius had discussed him once or twice. And Arthur was armed with information on how to get near him, when, and why. Yes, including Arthur made this much easier to pull off—not least of all because they didn't have to poison him, after all. But Harry still felt nagging guilt over it. The danger he was putting himself in was one thing. What he was doing to others was something else entirely.

But not now, because he needed to focus. He watched quietly in the foyer area of the Ministry building, the place where everyone arrived and departed, until he saw his target. He followed him to the caged lifts, and got on when he did. He pretended not to notice the other man until the carriage started moving. Then he pretended surprise, and he smiled.

"Ah, Markowicz, didn't see you there!" He gave the other man a jovial slap on the back. "I'm still waiting for that report from your department, you know."

Markowicz scowled at him. "Why do you think I pressed the button for your floor, Weasley? I'm on my way to deliver it to you." He shuffled in the leather satchel he carried. "Here."

"No, no, I'll just spill my cup on it," Harry protested, holding up the cup of tea he'd procured. "Just pop into my office with me, and I can check it before you go to make sure it has everything we need."

Markowicz was unhappy, but couldn't think of a good argument, so they exited the lift together. Harry glanced quickly around the office, and was pleased to see that Arthur was right, he did always get there earlier than anyone else. When Markowicz held out the report, Harry shot his spell.

"_Imperio_!"

The man's eyes glazed. Well, it was Harry's first attempt, he didn't have the finesse to make it look good.

"Who do you report to?" Harry demanded. "Which Death Eater do you report your information to?" _You want to tell me, you would love to tell me . . ._

"Rodolphus Lestrange," Markowicz said in a dull voice.

"_Yes_," Harry breathed. "When is your next scheduled meeting?"

"Tomorrow after work."

"Where?"

"Hogsmeade."

Harry was delighted. He released the spell, and Markowicz nearly fell over. "_Obliviate_," he said, removing the last few moments from the man's mind. He took the copy of the report from the man's hands. "Thank you, Markowicz, this ought to be quite helpful."

Markowicz was confused for a moment, casting around for something to say after the brief interruption in his brain. He settled on, "You look ghastly, Weasley."

"I'm a bit under the weather," Harry admitted.

"Well, I'll thank you not to spread it around the whole building!" Markowicz snapped. "Why don't you go home?"

Harry nodded gravely. "Might do, to be honest with you. Well, thanks for the report, in any case. I'll just tuck it here in the inbox so the rest of the staff can work on it. I'd better go back home, then. Good day."

Markowicz grunted, and stalked out. Harry very carefully departed as well, being sure to remark on how poorly he was feeling to a few of the people he ran into on his way out. None of them cared, they had enough troubles of their own. The aura of fear over this building was palpable and real, and made Harry feel genuinely sick. But safely in one sweaty palm, he clutched what he'd come for. The hair he'd plucked from Markowicz's stringy mane when he'd slapped his back. His ticket to see Rodolphus Lestrange.

He met up with Hermione and Ron when he exited the building. He grinned triumphantly as he slipped the hair into the vial Hermione held out to him.

"He reports directly to Lestrange," he announced. "That will eliminate a step."

The other two smiled back.

"What's the plan for right now?"

Harry was beginning to lose his resemblance to Arthur. He could feel his body sucking itself into a new shape, and his hair prickled as it grew back in. He felt a bit weak in the knees.

"Now we get me a drink," he declared. "We can't do anything until the meeting tomorrow night. You two will waylay him while I meet with Lestrange in Hogsmeade. Once you've got Markowicz safely tucked away for a couple of hours, you come to Hogsmeade to help me subdue Lestrange."

Hermione frowned. "What are we going to do if Lestrange doesn't know where the vault key is? What if Bellatrix is the only one who knows?"  
Harry shrugged. "Then I'll take one more dose of Polyjuice and meet up with her."

Hermione shuddered. Ron gaped at him.

They agreed they could all use a drink or two. The plan for tonight was something Harry had yet to share.

-o-o-o-

"This part, I have to do alone," Harry said gravely. Ron and Hermione were working on making dinner, which was fish (again) and a sort of stew with wild mushrooms and herbs that they hoped would taste okay if soaked in enough butter.

"You haven't told us what you're doing," Ron said complacently.

Hermione didn't say anything, but her lips were pressed together in disapproval.

"I'm going to Malfoy Manor."

"But you— you're going— what?" Ron sputtered.

Hermione stood up.

"I have a way of getting there undetected," Harry said with assurance. "I know it's risky, but I have to do it. If I have to pretend to be Rodolphus, and meet up with Bellatrix, then I need to know how to behave around her. I'm going to observe them for a while and get an idea of how they talk, touch, and so on. When that bloke was pretending to be me, Hermione knew it wasn't me inside a minute."

"What bloke?" Ron asked.

Hermione grabbed Harry's elbow and yanked him into their tent.

"You are not doing this," she hissed.

Harry cast a _Muffliato_ charm. "Are you denying it's necessary?"

"No, I'm not, but I won't let you do it. We'll come up with another plan, Harry, because there is no way that I am letting you go alone to Malfoy Manor, as an owl or otherwise!"

Harry smiled. "I knew you'd figure out what I was going to do."

Hermione glared at him.

"Hermione, this has to be done. We have to have that Horcrux. Simply breaking into their vault would be disaster at best, and suicide at worst. We have to be able to do this. In fact, it's better if I have her hair, too. That way we can go into Gringotts together. And if we're going to do this, I have to be able to walk right into her presence and give nothing away. I have to go spy on them. We don't have a choice."

"We do have a choice."

"It's the choice between succeeding and not succeeding. We don't have any allies in the bank, and I'm not about to risk breaking in. It has to be this way."  
Hermione left the tent, and went back to help Ron put together the food. He hadn't been able to hear anything, but he still blushed so much that his ears turned red. The silence over the campsite was very, very awkward. Harry prepared to leave in silence, but as he walked far enough away from the campsite to Apparate, Hermione came rushing after him, and threw her arms around him.

"We can't part on bad terms," she said. "Not ever."

He gave her a very soft kiss. "I'll be back."

"I know you will."

He Apparated a nice, easy distance from Malfoy Manor, the location of which he'd wheedled from Draco ages ago in the event it was ever needed. Then he transformed into an owl, and soared over the tall hedges, and was on the property completely undetected within moments.

He was half-wild with nerves, but he forced himself to go slowly, and see everything. There were (of all the stupid, ostentatious ways to waste your money) albino peacocks wandering about the premises. He should be grateful for them. It was likely their presence that made his own possible—the Malfoy wards excluded birds. Harry tilted his wings and swooped towards the back gardens, thinking a rear entrance might be safer than trying to wing through the front door.

He looked at everything as he went. Knowing things about this house might save his life at some point. He looked in all the windows as he went by, noting what they contained. Say, windows would make things easy. Maybe they had left a window open for him . . .

As it turned out, he didn't need a window. The Lestranges were sitting on a marble bench, in a piece of garden near the house but separated from the kitchen garden by a decorative hedge. Harry, feeling reckless with his success in getting this far, perched himself silently on that hedge, and watched.

He counted himself grateful that Rodolphus Lestrange seemed to be a very level-headed individual. They were speaking of a plan to invade someone's home and kill them, two nights from now, and Rodolphus showed none of his wife's mad glee about it. Of course, he was still discussing the violent death of innocent people, but he seemed like a sociopath of the sort that simply didn't see anything wrong with murder. He didn't seem to have any real joy in it, nor in anything else. It was more to the point for him that it would please Voldemort, and Bellatrix. He was the kind of guy who pleased others to make his own life easier. If they were happy, his life went smoothly.

Yes, Harry was grateful for that. He would find it easier to act out the part of Rodolphus than a lot of the other Death Eaters. But he was entirely dismayed to find out that he and his wife were very attracted to one another. It was a little bit sickening to watch, but Harry forced himself to do so. He had to know, so he could pull this off.

She liked to play with his beard, Harry noted. And he liked to play with her breasts, which was a lot more disgusting to file away for his use. Apparently the way she licked her Dark Mark was supposed to be a turn on, since Rodolphus bent his head to kiss her.

Then, very abruptly, she was done playing. She jumped up from the bench, laughing in weirdly uncertain way that chilled him.

"Come on, we've work to do."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," Rodolphus said sourly, getting up.

"Our lord has been generous enough to allow us this time. We will not try his patience," she said sharply.

"No," he agreed, getting up himself.

Bellatrix suddenly whipped her head around and drew her wand. She stared around into the dark wildly. Rodolphus followed suit, wand held at the ready and eyes straining against the darkness.

"What?" he asked.

Harry tucked his wings in as far as he could, and tried to be smaller than he was. Damn him for being such a large breed of owl! But a peacock stepped out from between two shrubs, and the Lestranges relaxed. Rodolphus put his wand away, although Bellatrix turned hers toward the white bird with a snarl on her lips. Rodolphus laid a hand on her arm, making her turn her head.

"Lucius would throw a fit," he said.

Bellatrix put her wand away with a scowl, and they walked up the path toward the huge house.

Then Rodolphus lunged at her and shoved her up against the wall of the manor with a growl of desire. "They can wait a few minutes," he grunted, fumbling with her skirt, making her scrape her bare skin against the house. She hissed in pain.

"Merlin, you're gorgeous when you're bleeding," he mumbled, sliding a hand over her bared, scraped thigh.

"Yes," she said simply.

Harry decided to get the hell out of there. They were too distracted to see him go, and he flew halfway back to the campsite before he remembered that he could transform back into a person and Apparate. He stumbled through the wards they'd placed with his gut feeling pinched and heavy.

Hermione and Ron were sitting at the fireplace. Hermione was taking the opportunity of having someone who was going through the curriculum to get some questions answered about NEWT studies. But they both jumped to their feet and turned his way when they saw him coming.

"Harry?"

"I need a shower," Harry said firmly. "I need soap. Lots of soap."

Soap they had, but not a shower, so Harry settled for washing his hands in their stream. The act of it, the calming motion of doing something so familiar, settled him. But his stomach was still twisted up in knots. He didn't know how he was going to pull off pretending to be Rodolphus, not when he had to be married to _her_.

-o-o-o-

Harry didn't know that the proprietor of the Hog's Head was the one who'd given Ron a means in and out of the school—Ron hadn't relayed the information, and Harry hadn't asked. They hadn't yet had time for such details. But Harry knew a little about Aberforth Dumbledore simply through knowing his brother, and he couldn't understand why the man would allow nasty types like Lestrange and Markowicz to hold meetings in his establishment.

Of course, denying them could mean more trouble than it was really worth, so . . . Harry supposed he had some sympathy for the man. In any case, his business tonight wasn't Aberforth, it was Rodolphus. Hermione and Ron were hiding Markowicz's unconscious form somewhere out of the way until this meeting was over with, so they should be waiting outside the Hog's Head in only a minute or two. For now, Harry was on his own.

He didn't like being Markowicz. The stringy feeling of the hair on his neck was awful, and his skin was dry and itchy. He had a better build than Arthur, but he didn't have Harry's lean form that was built for endurance. Harry would gladly take on Markowicz in a fight, any day. He'd wear himself out before Harry had broken a sweat.

When Rodolphus Lestrange walked into the dirty, dingy little pub and took a seat at the faded and scarred table, Harry felt that assurance evaporate. Here was a man who would be a dangerous opponent. He was handsome, in a swarthy and sneering sort of way, with a deep chest and big arms. Harry didn't want to bet on his chances of taking Lestrange alone, so he hoped Ron and Hermione were hurrying. He didn't have anything to report, so he wouldn't be able to stall for long.

"Markowicz," Lestrange said in a low, rumbling voice. "What do you have for me?"

Harry made a lazy gesture, and tried to look bored. "Ah, relax, why don't you? Have a drink. We're the only ones here, might as well take our time. Won't kill you, Lestrange." In demonstration, he took a long swallow of his own drink, thanking his lucky stars that they were the only patrons. Aberforth Dumbledore came stumping over with a scowl, smelling as sour as his pet goat and making Harry grimace. He thunked a tankard down in front of Lestrange and departed again without a word.

Lestrange frowned at both the drink and his presumed colleague, stroking his neatly-trimmed beard with thumb and forefinger. "Fine," he said at last. He grinned, in a sly way. "Bella always likes to taste the alcohol on my breath, anyway."

Harry could sense, in the delivery, that he was being goaded in some way. Did Markowicz not like Bellatrix? Harry had sympathy, if that were so. Or was it more that Markowicz had a thing for her and her husband liked rubbing it in? Gross. Whatever it was, Harry figured he was safe with scowling and mumbling and taking a big swig. Lestrange seemed to get a kick out of it, anyway. Hopefully it would keep him in a good enough mood that Harry wouldn't be forced to report immediately.

They drank in silence for a minute, until Harry was certain that his friend and his girlfriend were outside. He stirred, a bit. No need for any sort of violence unless it were necessary. He'd try to do it peacefully (and illegally, and Darkly) first.

"Well, Markowicz? Do you have a bloody report, or are you just here to look pretty?"

"_Imperio_," Harry whispered.

It didn't take. Lestrange's eyes bugged, then he leapt out of his seat, causing Harry to leap up, himself. "You _dare_! You little twerp! You—" He stopped in surprise when Harry, unused to the body he found himself in, nearly fell when getting up. "You're not Markowicz," he growled.

Before Lestrange could get his wand up, Harry was running. "Not in my pub!" Aberforth was shouting, and Lestrange was sending curses at him, but Harry was weaving past the tables as he ran, and he flung himself through the door with desperation, hoping with all his heart that his allies were on the other side because this body was not built for running.

"_Stupefy_!" two voices said simultaneously. Lestrange hit the dirt, Harry went to his knees and grabbed the man's arm, and all four of them Disapparated before Aberforth could peek out to see anything.

-o-o-o-

When Rodolphus Lestrange woke up, he was bound with ropes. He was laying on the floor of some empty building, all concrete and only two windows up near the ceiling. He was unable to move and diagnosed himself as being Petrified—and his wand was being twirled in the hands of a very recognizable person.

"Potter," he growled. "Harry bleeding Potter. You're the one who got to Markowicz? What are you playing at, boy?"

Potter gave him an indolent look, tucking _his_ into the pocket of_ Muggle_ jeans. He was also wearing a _filthy Muggle_ t-shirt. He sported a dueling holster on each forearm, both filled by a wand. Rodolphus allowed himself a brief moment to wonder what the devil Potter was doing with two wands, then reminded him that Potter currently had three and there were bigger problems to worry about.

"I need some information from you."

Rodolphus laughed, which due to his Petrification made his chest feel tight. He suddenly noticed that his chest was entirely bare. Where were his clothes? Was this supposed to be intimidating? "You need information, so you've ambushed me and taken me captive? Maybe we ought to be less focused on trying to kill you and more on recruiting you."

Oh, that had to smart. Potter's jaw was clenched down hard. But then he smiled.

"At least I'm not going to kill you, Lestrange."

That didn't make any sense. "Why the devil wouldn't you? Unless you and your cronies can't handle it. Who was it, anyway, that got me outside the pub?"

"No one you need to be concerned about," Potter said harshly. He used one of his wands to conjure up a chair, and he sat on it, leaving Rodolphus on the ground. "Let's talk."

"Better yet, why don't you fuck off, you upstart little git?"

Potter leaned back with a lazy grin. "Is that what's got you upset? Not that someone bested you, but that it was some youngster like me? Don't feel too bad, Lestrange. I'm actually quite skilled for my age. Most students don't get the opportunity to practice Binding spells."

Rodolphus wondered if he was supposed to feel privileged to have been captured by a child prodigy, but he thought now might be a good time to shut up and say not a word more until Potter got tired of playing his game. He was a child. It wouldn't be long.

Potter reached into his pocket and withdrew something. A vial. He couldn't see what was in it, but when Potter stood up and came to him, he realised he was meant to drink it. When Potter knelt down, he strained against his ropes and against the Petrifying spell over his body. Without his wand, it was sort of pointless, but struggling was the only delay against drinking the contents of that vial.

It lasted only until Potter grabbed his hair and yanked his head back so that he was forced to swallow or choke when the vial was tipped into his throat. He swallowed by reflex and tried to bite Potter's hand. A strange feeling spread over him. Things would be all right, wouldn't they? All he had to do was say the right thing, and everything would be fine.

"What is your name?"

He didn't know why Potter was asking, but that was an easy one. "Rodolphus Julian Lestrange."

"Are you married?"

"Yes." He shouldn't say anything more. He didn't want to. Why did he feel like he had to? That wasn't right.

"Whom to?"

"To Bellatrix Lestrange, neé Black, the daughter of—"

"Yes, that's quite enough," Potter interrupted.

Wait, how could he be interrupting when Rodolphus didn't want to say anything? The truth of the liquid he'd been forced to drink became clear. How dare he? How did he even get his hands on it? The little twit had fed him Veritaserum!

"I'm curious, Potter, where you procured a controlled substance."

"That's none of your concern, Lestrange. You're just going to answer my questions."

"No."

Potter just smiled, sitting back in his chair and seeming to enjoy himself.

"You have a vault at Gringotts."

It wasn't a question. He didn't have to answer it.

"Does your vault contain a cup given to you by Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Rodolphus bared his teeth and growled. But . . . "Yes," he grunted. He didn't want to say it. It just came out. Although he hadn't actually known that his master had that name. It was so common—but no. Nothing about his lord was common. Nothing.

"Describe the cup to me."

"It's shiny," he bit out.

Surprisingly, Potter just smiled. "Where is the key to your vault?"

No, no, _no._ He wouldn't. He wouldn— "Bellatrix keeps it on a chain around her neck."

Potter seemed to find that amusing. "Why?"

Rodolphus shook his head. He didn't have to speculate, did he?

"What is your wife's professed reason for doing so?"

Damn the little twit forever. "She says that she must keep it on her person because it represents a task given to her by the master. She calls it a talisman of power. Something our lord said to her that he did not share with me."

Potter seemed to mull over that for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Okay. Thanks. That's all."

Rodolphus was incredulous. Potter had gone to the trouble of impersonating Markowicz and then kidnapping him, just to find out where they kept an heirloom for their master? Harry Potter had broken the law, just to find out that no matter how badly he might want it, he was never getting access to their vault. And now Potter had _him_ to deal with, and Potter had to know that Rodolphus was going to have his revenge.

It was too funny. Rodolphus began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Potter snapped.

Still under Veritaserum, and perfectly happy to tell the truth in this case, Rodolphus explained as much as he could through bursts of laughter. And at that, something happened that angered Rodolphus more than ever. Potter smiled, and got up off the chair, and went to the door of the concrete building. He was _leaving_. Like Rodolphus didn't even _matter_.

"I'll be right back in," he said conversationally. "But we won't be talking again. I'm simply going to keep an eye on you while my colleagues carry something out."

"Too afraid to join them, are you, Potter?"

Potter quirked his lips. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, you've got it exactly right, Lestrange."

The _boy_ was playing with him, thinking he could have such disrespect for him as to cheek him that way . . .

"I'm going to kill you, Potter," he vowed. He made sure their eyes were locked while he spoke. It seemed to scare people more to see how much he meant what he said. "And when you are dead, I will cut off your head and stick it on a pole and carry it around as a walking stick so that I can show off your decomposing flesh like a trophy." He would, too. He wasn't saying it just to intimidate. It would be only too easy to do, and it gave him a little thrill to think of those dead eyes staring at him like they were confirming that he'd carried out his promise.

Potter abruptly strode out and slammed the door. Rodolphus felt smug. He might be the one tied up on the ground, but he'd won this round.

-o-o-o-

Harry looked at Ron with his mouth and eyes gone hard and cold.

"Sit on the other side of the room. Don't speak to him at all. Just renew the charms to keep him Petrified and tied up once in a while. Hopefully I won't be long."

Ron nodded. "I will." He moved toward the door of the abandoned warehouse they were using.

"Seriously, Ron. Don't say anything to him." As Harry spoke, he was pulling on the clothes they'd taken off Lestrange while he was unconscious. They were loose on him. "He is going to try to goad you. He is going to say horrible things, about you or your family . . . don't take the bait. If he does manage to escape us, I want him to think I was the one in there with him the whole time, not you. If you talk, he'll know it's not me. Okay?"

"Harry, I know," Ron said in concern. "Hermione and I can handle him."

Harry let out an exasperated breath. "Yeah, you can. Sorry."

Hermione laid her hand on his shoulder. "What did he say to you?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. Well, nothing important. But he's insane, and horrible, and . . . And now I have to go become him for a little while."

Hermione kissed his cheek. "You'll be back. And you'll be okay. I know you will."

Harry nodded. "Yeah." He pushed her away. "Stop being so good to me, I can't respond properly right now."

Hermione's hand on him was tight and unyielding. "We never part on bad terms, Harry."

"Then kiss me goodbye and let me go for a while," he said quietly.

She did. He and Ron looked at one another and drank their Polyjuice Potion, then watched as they made their transformation. Ron shrank a few inches, his hair darkened, a jagged scar sank into the flesh of his forearm and forehead. Harry didn't grow in height any significant amount, but his body deepened and became broad and sprouted more hair. He slowly filled out the robes he was wearing. He judged the body of Lestrange more pleasant to wear than that of Markowicz, but he couldn't say he was going to enjoy it.

He looked at the two gravely, then concentrated on making his eyes right. Lestrange had shown some anger, but even that was detached. The only time he'd been completely serious was when he'd vowed to make Harry's dessicated head part of his daily wardrobe. Harry looked at Hermione and Ron, made himself see useless sacks of meat, a blood traitor and a Mudblood who were not worth the air they were breathing. The two of them, who were watching him with concern as he continued to stand there silently, both began to pale and draw away from him.

He spun around to go. "Don't speak, Ron," he said brusquely. He Apparated to Malfoy Manor, held Lestrange's wand out to the gate, and walked right through the front door. He was so scared that there was a real danger of losing his bowels, but he refused to feel it. The fear was a distant thing. Lestrange didn't know fear of anything but his master. This was the house he lived in now, so he belonged here. He could stride through the hall if he wanted to.

He knew which part of the house people slept in, since he'd seen it last night on his scouting mission. He didn't know which room he was supposed to be in, so he just walked until he found Bellatrix. She was wearing a really ugly floor-length nightie of deep purple. It did nothing but make her face look even more ravaged and hollow than it already was.

She turned when she heard his movement.

"Dolph," she said with a frown. "What are you doing in here? Have you already finished reporting about your meeting with Markowicz?"

"Yes," he said simply. "He had nothing of note, nothing but the same trash he's been giving us for weeks." He tried to sneer appropriately, and he refused to feel his heart pounding. He crossed the room and dropped himself into a richly upholstered chair. His brief glance around the room told him that he did not sleep here. Bellatrix slept alone. Well, honestly, what was the point of being married then?

She seemed to accept his explanation, but she was still frowning at him. "What do you want?"

"Had to look at that rat Markowicz for an hour, thought I'd like to see something a little more aesthetically pleasing."

Okay, so there were women a lot more aesthetically pleasing than the bony woman with glittering, mad eyes. But he was married to this one, and she'd been rather beautiful when she was young.

She didn't seem like she was buying it. Obviously he was not supposed to enjoy just sitting in his wife's room and watch her get ready for bed. And, well, he would have to get up close to her sooner or later. Much as it churned his stomach, it had to be done. He stood back up, and walked toward her with a powerful stride, making her back up a step.

"I didn't finish what I started last night," he growled.

She didn't look happy, but he'd crowded her up against the wall and his broad shoulders prevented an escape unless she wanted to hex him. Which she very well might. He acted before she could try. He gripped her shoulders, bent his head, and ran his mouth along her neck. She went very still. Then he took her earlobe in his mouth and bit down until he tasted blood.

She shuddered. "Oh," she breathed out.

He went to work as fast as possible. One hand gripped the back of her neck painfully, holding her in place, while the other kneaded her breast through the horrible purple nightgown. And his clever fingers slipped the chain free of her neck and replaced it with a key that opened nothing but a glass cabinet in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. His mouth was at work licking at the blood on her ear, but he was perfectly positioned to see the hair that was stuck in the clasp on the chain. It was all exactly right.

She had her hands under his shirt and was raking her nails over his back, raising lines of fire. God, she probably had poison on those fingers, he would die of an infection or something.

He straightened up abruptly, releasing her. "I'm being called," he bit out. "Apparently my report is not finished."

Bellatrix was open-mouthed and looked angry, but then her eyes began to gleam. "Perhaps there is a raid tonight." She looked down at her own Mark in eagerness, but frowned petulantly. "I am not invited."

"I don't think it's a raid," he said. "He must have a question for me. Perhaps he wishes to plan an invasion of the Ministry."

Her eyes gleamed again at that. "Then hurry, Dolph. Don't keep him waiting."

He nodded curtly, raked his eyes over her dishevelment, the blood on her neck. "We'll finish this later."

He strode out. He went down the hall, saw a man who looked a great deal like him coming toward him. He recalled that he had a brother, Rabastan. He nodded to the other man, who was thinner and less hairy, but shared his jaw and nose.

"Got to go out for a bit," he muttered. "Master has another question for that rat Markowicz."

Rabastan looked unsurprised, and let him go. He walked out of the house, and Apparated back to the warehouse, and walked inside, walking right past where Hermione sat guard outside the door. He saw Ron, still looking like Harry Potter, sitting silently as instructed. Rodolphus Lestrange lay on the floor, also silent, his eyes glaring holes into his captor. When he saw the person coming toward him, they flew wide with shock.

"You . . . what have you done?" he shouted. "What _is_ this?"

He went the corner of the room, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak. He shucked off the clothes, and used a charm to put them back on Lestrange (it was a spell that mothers used on their two-year-olds, which had amused him at one time but did not now), all the while listening to Lestrange holler the most gruesome death threats he never could have imagined. Then he grabbed Lestrange and Apparated back to the Manor.

He threw the Cloak over his head, disappeared. Then he pointed the Elder Wand at Lestrange and modified his memory. He took away everything that had happened in the first meeting with Markowicz and all of the warehouse. He replaced it as best he could with his own memory of being with Bellatrix and being called away. Lestrange's eyes were glassy and shocked. Finally, he let Lestrange's wand fall onto the ground at his feet.

He Disapparated. In his absence, the binding spells over Lestrange broke, and he was under his own power again. Lestrange felt extremely fuzzy for a moment, which he did not understand. Then he remembered that he'd been forced to go to Markowicz and get some more information from him. Lucky for him, Markowicz had still been at that pigsty of a tavern, enjoying a final drink before going home.

He must have had more to drink than he remembered, with his head feeling the way it did. How had he managed to drop his wand? Even if he was dead drunk, he never thought he'd do that. He wasn't going to drink any more, not if this was what happened. He went inside and went to his room. His brother and his wife shared this hall with him, but he didn't bother them. His head was clearing up now, but he felt exhausted, for some reason. He just needed to get some sleep.

-o-o-o-

They had made what they thought was a gigantic batch of Polyjuice Potion, meaning to have some left over in case they needed it again. They hadn't reckoned on how much they needed for this plan. They joked about the health risks of transforming into so many different people in such a short space of time, but when they faced one another with the last vials in their hands they couldn't find it funny anymore.

Ron, who had done nothing but dye his hair and undergo a very minor Shrinking spell to make him a few inches shorter, watched them. Harry and Hermione gave one another a long look, trying to share what strength they had.

"Bottoms up," Harry sighed.

They drank. Then they Apparated.

At Gringotts bank, a goblin took a key from the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange, and escorted the husband and wife to their vault, with their servant trailing behind them. A nondescript, runtish young man, not the sort the goblin would have expected to serve them. The pair went inside, gave the goblin a very pointed look, and the goblin retreated. He and the servant stood out on the rock ledge and waited. From inside his robe, Rodolphus produced a cup with the badge of Helga Hufflepuff on it. After a brief search of the vault (during which they discovered that the Lestranges had more money than they'd been given credit for), they located a cup that looked just like the one they'd brought with them.

Taking no chances, they used his walking stick to pick up the cup, and she set down the exact likeness in its place. He tucked the new one under his robes, and they gave one another a truly exultant smile. They'd done it.

-o-o-o-

Rodolphus woke up and decided to head downstairs to look for something to eat. It was going to be a long day, he thought. There would be a raid tonight on some Muggleborns, and they were supposed to take Greyback's wolves with them. It was going to be a particularly bloody slaughter. He didn't care about the blood, it was just blood. But he hated Greyback. Greyback was so visceral and uncouth. No manners at all.

His wife accosted him in the hall. "You never came back last night."

He thought back to the night before. He'd been with her for a while, hadn't he? "I had to go back to the tavern and speak to Markowicz again. I was tired."  
"Speak to him about what?" she insisted. He hated that. She was an attractive woman, but she never left him alone. Nagging shrew is what she was.

"I don't know," he muttered, trying to walk away. "It was late, I'd had a few ales. I barely remember what I said to our master."

"You never drink, Dolph," she said in firm voice. "Why did you? You should be able to remember."  
Horrible woman, but maybe she was right. Last night was a bit _too_ fuzzy. Why was that?

"You don't think Markowicz slipped me something?" he asked with narrow eyes.

"Why would he?" she shot back. "No, there is something else, here, something I'm not seeing . . ." She kneaded her hand over the back of her neck, like she did when she was thinking. Then she froze, with her hand stuck there. "There's something wrong."

"What?"

"With my necklace." She fumbled with the clasp, and her brittle control began to fragment. He'd seen it before. The insanity was taking over. She began to giggle. "This is not my necklace," she said. "This is a fake!"

"Don't be ridiculous," he scowled.

She was abruptly right in front of him with her fingers gripping his arm painfully hard. "_Where were you last night_?" she hissed, her laughter gone.

He didn't know. He thought he did, but it seemed surreal.

"That wasn't you, in my room. It was _someone else_." She looked down at the chain in her hand. "Our vault!" she roared.

-o-o-o-

Just when Harry was beginning to breathe easy, Ron poked his face in. His eyes were wild with panic.

"We've got company!"

Harry's stomach lurched. He'd thought, he'd really thought, that they would get away with it.

"Death Eaters. The real Lestranges, and some friends." Ron was practically jibbering with panic.

Harry did the only thing he could think of to do. He swept his arms out and began throwing the pile of treasure around the vault. Now discovered as imposters, the wards on the vault went off. The coins, the heirlooms, it all began to multiply and become super-heated. In moments, they had to run from the vault to avoid being buried under a mountain of fake, searing treasure. Hermione was shrieking at him, but the confusion was necessary. They ducked out into the open space, and saw six Death Eaters, intent on murder, barreling toward them.

"Time to remember your lessons!" Harry shouted.

And spells began to fly. Jets of light bounced everywhere, and very few of them landed on people. The goblin ran for it, probably to get his colleagues to roust them all out. No time for him. Harry had the Elder Wand, and he began to gain the upper hand. He got one he didn't recognize with a Stunner. He was holding off Rabastan Lestrange, who was beginning to sweat. But the three of them against five Death Eaters, including Bellatrix, was too much. He threw himself flat on the ground, and pointed his wand far down the cavernous route deeper into the vault.

"_Confringo_!" he screamed.

An enormous roar echoed back at him. He'd hit the dragon.

He cast more spells, straining himself to make them go as far as possible. He heard the dragon squealing, roaring, and then he heard the most welcome noise possible. The rumble of falling stones. And the ground began to tremble.

The dragon came roaring up toward them. The Death Eaters were caught. They could not battle both the thieves and the dragon, and the dragon was currently breathing fire at them. Harry, just in time, got a shield up against Rabastan's panicked spell, and took him out when he was distracted by another roar from the dragon. He pulled two small sticks from his pocket. With a tap of his wand, they became broomsticks.

"Ron!" he shouted. He threw one broom. Ron caught it and stared at it with shock. "Let's go!" Ron nodded and jumped on. Harry grabbed Hermione and yanked her on behind him. "Disillusion us!" he demanded of her. She did. Invisible, the three of them wove through fire and falling stone and made their escape.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Harry and Ron stood facing each other beside the campfire where they'd done their studying and planning for the past two days. Hermione was technically standing there, but she wasn't facing anyone, she was tucked under Harry's arm, staring off into the distance, and clutching at his shirt.

"We're going to pack up and move camp," Harry said at last. "That way you can't give away our location, if anything comes up."

Ron nodded soberly. He was still gripping the handle of the broom he'd ridden to safety when they'd escaped the combination of Death Eaters, enraged dragon, and security goblins an hour ago.

"Ron," Harry said slowly, making sure their eyes met. "Thank you. Everything you've done, you have no idea how much it's helped. So . . . thank you."

Ron smiled crookedly. "Don't suppose you're going to tell me what you stole from the vault."

Harry smiled back, more widely. "Nothing."

Ron's smile fell away. "What?"

"They'll check their records and find that it's all there. Every bit of it."

Ron's grip on the broom tightened, whitening his knuckles. "If you didn't steal something from that vault, then why did we all risk our lives over the past couple of days?"

"I can't tell you that, Ron."

"You don't even realise how many people are in danger because of this, do you? Neville knows I'm missing and they'll beat it out of him. Then Dean will get hung up and flayed for this! I _poisoned_ my own _dad_—"

"He agreed. You all agreed to this, even though I wanted to leave you out of it. Ron, listen to me. You wanted in on this, and I am more grateful than you know for your help. But this is as far as it goes. Look at me, and Hermione! We've had to drop out of school, move out of our homes, and go into hiding for this. Hermione actually modified her parents' memory and sent them away to keep them safe. Is that what you want? To be part of this? Because that's what you're asking for, if you want to know what it was we were really doing today. There is so much that I'm not going to tell you, and it's not because I don't trust you. It's because you _don't_ want to know."

Ron had gone pale, and at the end of Harry's reprimand, he nodded. "Okay, Harry. I get it."

"Do you?" Harry said dismissively. He doubted that. But his attitude made Ron take a step forward, and fix him with a hard look.

"We all thought there was something sort of off about you, this whole time." Ron's voice sounded awkward, and he was blushing, but he had to speak. "That you were just a weird cookie, probably because of how unstable your upbringing was. All the guys joked about how intense you are. You know, how you work so hard, how you're always so dire about everything. You go around acting like the world's about to end and you've got to be ready. We liked you and everything, but we thought it was funny."

"Glad to know I could amuse you," Harry sneered. Honestly, after what had just happened down in the Gringotts vaults, this was what Ron had to say? He'd known he wasn't just a regular guy like his mates in the dormitory at school, he didn't need it pointed out to him.

"But that's not exactly the right way to see it. I understand that now," Ron ploughed onward doggedly. "It's more like you were the only one who could see that the world was really ending, and we were just sitting there with our heads stuck up our arses. Just not listening. Because now . . ." He stopped to search for words. "Now something really bad _is_ happening, and you _are_ the only one who knows. You kept trying to show us, and we weren't hearing you. Things are totally falling apart. I've been watching it happen! But I still didn't see it, until now. It's not that you're weird. It's that the rest of us should have been! Neville got it all along, didn't he? And we made fun of him, too." Ron looked anguished. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Harry was so surprised that he didn't say anything. At least not until Hermione pinched his side, making him jerk. He bit down on his yelp of pain, and just tightened his arm around her gratefully.

"I . . . that means a lot to me, Ron. Thank you."

"I've got to get back," Ron said, his face bright red and his eyes on the ground. "Before Dean gets found out."

"Who knows you're gone?" Harry asked curiously.

"Just Neville, Dean, and Seamus. We didn't even tell my sister."

"Are she and Dean still dating?"

"Why do you think Dean is sticking so close to the castle, instead of going to ground?" Ron shrugged.

Harry snorted. "I'm pretty sure your sister already knows you've been gone."

"Well, I probably should have told her, anyway."

"Did you tell them where you were going?"

"No. Well, Neville knows, since you sent him that letter. But I didn't tell the other guys why I was leaving."

Harry was impressed by Ron's ability to keep secrets. He'd already known that Ron was a brave soul, but he was realising more and more that Ron was quite a guy. Maybe he should have been in on this all along, he was a really valuable ally. Well, it was too late for that now. Much too late. They were nearing the end, and there was no sense putting Ron's life on the line when they were rounding the last corner.

"Goodbye, and thank you," Harry said, shaking Ron's hand firmly. Hermione shook his hand as well, and thanked him, her first words since they'd escaped. Ron departed.

They turned back to the tent, and began packing up their stuff. They shoved everything in Hermione's bag, and Harry felt a bit of regret about having to leave this spot. It was convenient, sure, with its location so close to water and so secluded, but it was more than that. He and Hermione had been here together, just the two of them, for more than a month. Cooking meals, studying for the NEWTs they would never take, sleeping in one another's arms . . . But he could hardly afford to be sentimental. A new location would serve them just as well.

When everything was tucked away inside the bag, Harry finally withdrew the cup from his robes. He gave Hermione a grim look.

"Let's take care of this now."

She nodded, and rummaged inside the bag. She wore a look of deep concentration, but she muttered under her breath. When she continued to rummage without being able to locate anything, Harry reached out his hand to help.

"I've got it!" she snapped at him.

He stepped back.

She triumphantly withdrew one of their precious vials of basilisk venom, and then dropped it on the ground. With another mutter, she swooped down to pick it up, and she thrust it into Harry's hands as though she were glad to be rid of it.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

She cast a scathing look over their empty campsite. "Of course. I'm fine," she answered in a voice so thick with sarcasm that Harry could practically see it floating on the air.

_Okay, that was a dumb question. No, she's not all right, and truth be told, I'm not either. But we don't talk to each other like that. We never do. Something's up._

"Are you ready to do this?"

She nodded, settling the strap of her bag more firmly on her shoulder. "Do it."

Harry took the cap off the vial, and poured the contents inside the cup. It began to hiss and steam. Harry swirled the liquid around, and grimaced at the rising smoke, turning his head to the side.

"I can actually feel his soul leaving," he whispered, trying not to let his voice quiver. It was a nasty, dirty feeling.

But then it was over. The buried the cup in the ashes of their fire, and Harry pulled a map of the area out of his pocket.

"Let's go."

They picked out a spot on their map, and Apparated to several locations near it before they actually Apparated to their destination. They knew that an Apparation trail fades in only a few moments, but paranoia had been working for them and they weren't about to give it up now.

* * *

Harry was (out of a sense of his self-condemned sentimentality, no doubt) beginning to set up their new campsite by making the bed in the tent. Hermione was laying out their books in an orderly stack atop a spare blanket, which she would fold over the top of them to keep the dirt off until they wanted to study. She was still looking grim and upset. Harry wondered what he'd done wrong, because he obviously had done something.

Hermione reached into the bag and began pulling out some canned food. Harry cautiously crouched down next to her.

"Hermione? Can I be honest?"

"Always," she said in a hard voice.

"I'm not really hungry. Are you?"

"No," she said, but her hands continued to unpack the food.

He laid his hands gently over hers, and found that they were shaking. He was surprised that he hadn't seen the fine trembling that was coursing through her whole body, but feeling it destroyed his annoyance with her.

"Will you be honest with me?" he asked softly.

"About what?"

"Why didn't you tell me that you're scared and you could use some comfort?"

She jerked her hands away. "I'm not."

"Not scared?"

"Yes. Why would I be? We're fine."

Harry closed his eyes until he could get a grip. "Oh, Hermione. I was afraid, too. It doesn't make you weak or whatever it is that you're thinking. That whole situation was scary."

She finally looked at him, and her eyes were swimming with tears. "I thought we were going to die," she said, and she sounded confused. "I really did. I still can't believe we're here and not dead. But I can't fall apart now, I really can't. There's still so much left to do."

Harry felt like there was more the story, and it was maddening to have Hermione acting so taciturn with him. _I will not read her mind. I will not read her mind. I will __not __read her mind._

"Is that why you are being short with me?"

She clenched her jaw. "No."

"Will you tell me why, then?"

"No. It's something that isn't logical, and I need to work it out on my own."

Harry, still crouching next to her, felt like they were trying to shout at one another from across a massive canyon. Like they were miles apart. And he hated that.

"Don't," he said. "Don't be like that. There isn't any part of you that I don't want to know about. And there is nothing for you to work through that I'm not willing to help with."

Hermione let out a sharp breath, and the look in her eyes made him shrink. "You came back with that key, and you _smelled like her_."

He knew what she meant. "But Hermione, we knew before I went that I'd have to take it from her neck. You don't think I wanted to, do you?"

"No," she snapped. "I told you it isn't logical! I just . . . it's only that . . . you're _mine_, and she _touched_ you! And you let her! And it's horrible, that even when we were being attacked, I wasn't so much afraid, as angry that I was going to die without ever really having you! All I could think about was that Bellatrix Lestrange got further with you than I did!"

Harry wasn't sure exactly at what point she'd started hitting him. She hit like a girl, thumping her hands into his chest, but it wasn't the physical blows that concerned him in any case. He was surprised, to say the least. Definitely didn't know what he was supposed to say right now, and it was probably better for him to just keep his mouth shut.

She dealt him one last blow and stood up with a jerk, moving away from him, snorting with rage. Harry stood up, wondering if he was supposed to stay with her or leave the tent for a while. With a shriek, she shoved him, and he let himself fall down onto the bed he'd just made up. Easier than getting in a tussling match with an enraged girl inside a tent.

Abruptly, all her anger left her. He saw it go. She became very still, and her breathing slowed down. She had her eyes locked on him, and he thought he shouldn't move.

Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees. Their faces were level, and hers had a very determined expression. Harry saw that her trembling had begun again. Was she still angry with him?

"Harry," she whispered, and fell forward. He thought she was fainting and caught her, his hands moving out instinctively. Then he found that she had planted her lips on his.

"Oh," he said in shock.

He felt sure that they still needed to talk or something, but it could wait. He applied himself to the task that had presented itself, and kissed her until she was gasping for breath. His hands were gripping her under the arms, until they really weren't and they were actually just resting lightly against her ribs while his fingers began to quest towards her breasts.

She pulled back, the sucking sound of their lips parting was loud in the tent. She was breathing heavily.

"Sorry?" he ventured, lowering his hands.

Her own hands, still trembling, grabbed the hem of his shirt and jerked it up. It was lift his arms or get his shoulders dislocated, so he lifted his arms and let her pull his shirt off.

"Um, Hermione."

"Shut up," she said with feeling, and her hands ran a shaky path from his stomach to his shoulders. Then she pushed him over. He fell back willingly, and then she was leaning over him, crawling over him to straddle him and pin him again with her lips. The trembling was going away as she lost herself in what she was doing.

She was on her knees, one leg on either side of him, and her head was retreating. He raised himself up on his elbows to keep the connection of their mouths, and her hands roamed over his chest and sides. When she pulled back yet further to slide her hands over his hips, he left off her mouth and began kissing a trail along her neck. Deep, sucking kisses that made her gasp. His mouth moved over her collarbone and kept going down, and then she shivered violently.

He dropped his head back, letting his shaggy hair swing away from his sweating neck.

"Sorry," he slurred. It was an automatic apology, because he knew better than to reach for those parts of her.

But she made a noise of pure exasperation. "You—" Unable to find the words for what she wanted, she took his hands, which he had firmly planted against the bed so he wouldn't grab at her, and placed them where her shirt met her jeans.

Wonderingly, he looked up at her. "Are you sure?"

With a growl, she yanked her own shirt off and leaned forward again to plant a nip and a kiss just behind his ear. He shuddered, and his control was undone. He gripped her by the shoulders and let his lips finish the journey they'd begun. He used his thumbs to slide her bra straps off her shoulders while he kissed at her collarbone. He unclasped the bra with one practiced hand while the other stroked her stomach. He let his mouth go to work.

She sat back on her haunches, letting her head fall back, her eyes seeing nothing but sparks and her breath rasping in her throat.

"I never . . . never thought . . . feels so good . . . hurt before . . ."

Her scramble to sound coherent just made him laugh, his warm breath puffing out over her chest and making her squirm even more. It wasn't funny, that she had expected pain, it really wasn't, but this was so amazing, to be able to do this for her. She should know how good this was. And it _was_ good. His own need to take this further could be damned, he was going to do this for her, just this, to let her stake her physical claim like she wanted to do. She wasn't ready for more.

With a groan, she fell forward and began kissing him. Everywhere she could reach, from that insanely sensitive spot behind his ear, down his chest, and further . . . oh, god. She was nuzzling her face around his bellybutton. She shouldn't . . . he _couldn't_ . . . Thank god. She was moving back up, up to . . . oh, back up his chest, to pay him a little of the courtesy he'd shown her, and that was . . . well, it was nice, to say the least. His hands slid up and down her bared back, marveling at how silky that skin was, and how warm her mouth was, and how good it felt to let his mouth roam over her and make her see that trust was possible, even here. But it was too much. He knew it was, and he forced himself to speak.

"Hermione," he gasped. "Please."

She raised her head, and gave him a puzzled look. "What?"

"This is . . . well, this is great. But you have to stop."

"Why?" she asked, her face aghast.

"Because if we don't stop now, I can't . . . Hermione, it's been a long time since I last had . . . um, it's been a while. And if we keep going, then I need to be able to finish. I'm not sure I'll be able to stop when you want me to. And I never, never want to force you."

Her mouth, that clever little mouth, curved up in the most wicked grin he'd ever seen. "I don't want to stop," she purred.

"Are you sure?"

Her mouth latched onto his again, and he fell back with a groan of something that was almost pain. She didn't understand, and he'd have to find the ability to control himself on his own.

"You're amazing," she whispered against his mouth, her cheek sliding over his. "I can't believe how much you care about me. And that's why I'm not afraid of this. Because I'm with you."

Just as he felt himself melt into that, that glowing pulse of assurance that his love had been enough, her hands found the buttons on his fly. He held his breath, forcing his hands to be still. She wanted this, but he had to be careful. He could do this.

"I don't know exactly where to go from here," she murmured, her face tense. "The first time, it was . . ."

He kissed away the expression on her face. "It's okay. I know what to do."

"Show me," she whispered.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, he showed her.

* * *

They were laying still, cooling off. They were still naked, and her sweaty skin glided over his as she worked her way into his embrace, settling herself against his side. He let out a deep sigh of utter contentment. Her laughter was a warm, sticky sensation against his chest.

"Doesn't take much to make you happy," she teased.

"Nor you," he said in a lazy drawl.

Her hair was spread out all over him, sticking to the drying sweat. It tickled when she moved her head to burrow even further against him.

"I'm a little embarrassed," she murmured.

"Because you don't have any clothes on?" he drawled.

"No," she said, pinching the skin on his ribs. "Because I was so clueless. I just . . . thought it would hurt more than that."

His hand stroked her shoulder. "The first time, I hear, usually does. But not like you had. That wasn't right."

"What should it have been like?"

"Like it just was, only with a bit of a pinch when I went in."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad. That it didn't hurt at all, with you. It was . . . perfect."

"That it was," he agreed with a yawn.

She levered herself up with one arm and gazed down on him with a petulant look. "I heard men fall asleep after sex, but I thought it was a joke!"

He grinned, feeling warm and calm and completely unable to move. "Not really. I mean, I hardly ever sleep already, and the last few days have been very stressful, and I haven't been this relaxed in ages, you know . . ."

She punched him on the arm. "You can't fall asleep _now_!"

"Why not? We already finished. Twice."

She grinned. "I suppose we did."

"We could both sleep," he suggested.

She lay back down. "We should get clean first."

He grunted. It might have been agreement. But he wasn't about to get up. And Hermione was beginning to think that a nap might be nice. Because really, it hadn't hurt, but she was feeling sort of weak, and she was beginning to think she was going to be a little sore, later. So she lay her head down against him, feeling somehow proud, like she'd accomplished something. And beautiful, because he'd just spent hours worshiping her body. And closer and more in love than ever. And maybe just a little sleepy.

It was only afternoon, but it was warm in their tent, and they were satisfied. They slept.

* * *

_The man has been waiting for him, but he is not surprised. He knew how angry the man would be, how much he would desire confrontation, but his ability to shut the man out is too good when he's awake. The man must wait for him to sleep to find him, to demand answers. He is ready for the angry man._

_"What have you done?" the man shouts, with that strange hissing quality that so defines him, here in this dark corridor where they meet._

_"Broke into a Gringotts vault, obviously," he retorts._

_"What have you taken?" the man howls at him._

_Let the man rant and rave. He doesn't care. He has no fear, just now. "Nothing."_

_"Do not lie to me, boy! What was it?"_

_"I didn't take anything," he replies, feeling calm still. The man can yell at him, but he cannot touch him, for he cannot find him. He is sleeping peacefully and safely, no matter what the man might say here in this corridor of his mind. He is warm and content._

_"Come, Harry," he says in his sibilant voice, calming himself to sound more reasonable. "You would not go to so much trouble for no reason, would you?"_

_"Of course not," he replies. He likes it when the man acts reasonable, it's so much easier to deal with. "But I didn't go to all that trouble to steal money or trinkets from them. I have my own. I didn't want anything from their vault."_

_"Do not act like a spoiled child with me, Harry Potter!"_

_"I just wanted to prove it could be done, you pathetic old man. You think you're invincible, and maybe you are. But your people aren't, are they? Eh, Riddle? I got inside. I went into your stronghold, and I spoke to your Death Eaters. I touched them. I stole from them. I played with them. Me. The one person you most wanted to find was walking through the same place you lay your head at night. I drew blood from your most trusted lieutenant. And it was fun, Riddle. I can't lie. It was bloody fun to do it to you."_

_"What did you take?" he pants with fury._

_"Your peace of mind," he smirks._

_And he shuts the man out. He forces himself back toward the edge of consciousness, away from the place where he can be reached, but something is wrong, is different . . ._

_The darkness of the corridor, the hissing of the man's voice, it clings to him like a dark, sticky web. The man is following him up to the surface, he isn't letting go. Riddle is angry, more angry than ever before. He can't shake him off. The man is trying to take control, and he seems to have found some dark corner where he can dig in his fingers and cling. Panicked, he forces himself to laugh and pretend it isn't happening._

_"Just a kid, your enemy, and I got into your most guarded places!"_

_The taunt fails to shake his enemy loose, but he keeps fighting, keeps clawing his way through that never-ending dark corridor, fighting the sticky shadows, feeling a strange stinging sensation—_

"HARRY!"

He came around to find her slapping him, his face and his chest and his arms, slapping him silly, the blows open-handed and painful. He grabbed at her arms, forcing them aside, and turned his face to avoid being struck again.

"Wait, stop, stop, ouch!"

"Harry," Hermione sobbed in relief, throwing herself over him and breaking down in tears. "Oh, Harry, are you okay? You were talking in your sleep. I knew you were talking to him, and I tried to wake you up, but I couldn't! I thought he was . . . I thought he was taking you!"

Still naked, he noticed, and sticky with dry sweat. He couldn't have been asleep for too terribly long.

"It's okay." His throat hurt. Had he been screaming or something? He reached his arms up to hold her, to comfort himself with the warmth of her body against his. "I'm okay now."

"I'm sorry for hitting you, but I didn't know what else to do!"

"You did the right thing," he muttered, feeling shaken and scared despite his best efforts to convince himself that there was nothing to be afraid of. "You did. Thank you."

"Was it him?"

"Yeah. It was him. For a minute . . . he had me." He shuddered, and so did she. "Thank you," he said again, fervently. He let out a deep breath, trying to release his tension. "Let's take a bath and get dressed, okay? We should study tonight."

Hermione was agreeable to the idea of finding something to do. They didn't bring up the many frightening ideas they began to have about what might have happened. Because he'd woken up, and they were going to be okay.

* * *

Severus Snape was sitting in Albus Dumbledore's office, his hands steepled in front of him and a feeling of nausea in his stomach. It was not his office, no matter how much time he spent in it. When Dumbledore's things had been left to Longbottom and Potter, Severus had not bothered replacing them with any of his own effects, and the shelves sat empty. Dust had gathered thickly to mute the gleam of the polished old wood. He didn't care. He had never counted on being around long enough for it to matter.

It would be a sort of sacrilege, he thought, to cover those shelves in his things, when he was the reason the last headmaster was dead. But these were not the thoughts that occupied him just now. He was concerned with the events of this morning. This morning, something had happened.

He never ate in front of the students, as the rest of the staff did. He preferred to seem completely aloof. Let them wonder if he feasted on ritually slaughtered kittens in a gravy of unicorn blood. He did, however, drink a cup of tea from his place at the head of the table, while looking at all of the worst troublemakers in turn until they were shaking in their shoes. It made him look close to omniscient to glare at them as if he knew what they had been doing, all while nonchalantly enjoying his morning routine.

But this morning, there had been something wrong with his tea. He was used to angry looks from the rebellious students and lots of blinking and lowered heads from those who wanted to be unnoticed. This morning, there had been something else in their eyes. Interest. Almost an anticipation. He had immediately gotten up to stroll around the room, ostensibly to make them uncomfortable with his proximity, but in actuality because he had been afraid that some type of malicious prank had been set up around his seat.

He'd strolled for a while, caught sight of Neville Longbottom, and felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. The Carrows, being the only professors who spoke to him at this point, had told him that Longbottom was at the top of their "people to destroy" list. This was how he'd known that Longbottom was living up to what Black had set for him to do, _"his part for the Order of the Phoenix_." Being the bane of Amycus and Alecto's existence was Longbottom's job. But Severus had not actually looked at Longbottom in quite some time, and what he saw was horrendous. He was one gigantic mass of bruises and cuts. But he raised his eyes to his headmaster and gave him a serene look that should not have been possible for someone who suspected that Severus had killed his adopted grandfather. He had accepted this role, and so, to look at them, had some of the prefects. Even Veronica Vanderlay was sporting a few ugly injuries. Not just the injuries, but the same look of acceptance of what they'd chosen.

He'd covered his surprise (and surprising feelings of guilt) by raising his cup and giving the Weasley girl a long glare over the rim of his cup. He had to maintain the image, even if they had forced him out of his seat, even if he was reeling from the realization of what these _children_ had taken upon themselves. He'd stopped himself from drinking the tea immediately. He wasn't sure how he knew. It was odourless, tasteless, colourless—he just knew. Chalk it up to years of experience. There was poison in his tea.

So he did the only thing he could think of. Silently, with the cup at his lips, he had Vanished the liquid, filled it with water, and sipped it with leisure. He was afraid that there had been a bit of poison clinging to the edges of the cup, but he drank the water and hoped it wouldn't kill him. He saw many eyes on him—so many, that he knew drawing the truth out of them would be a long, difficult, and bloody experience.

That was why he sat here now. Did he admit he had discovered the poison, replaced it with water, and did he proceed to seek out the guilty party (or parties, as was more likely the case)? It would take days. It would be filled with screaming. It would be one massive headache, and at the end of it he would only be resented more than he already was. Was it worth it? Perhaps he could ignore it. Perhaps the simple fact that he did not take action would scare them more than his threats. They would think he was plotting revenge, wouldn't they?

And, he had to admit, making himself look invincible did factor in. If he pretended he had drunk the poison and suffered no ill effects, it made him appear beyond the reach of anyone, student or otherwise. What awe they would have if they thought he could drink poison and show no sign of it! It wasn't that he wanted to be held in awe, exactly. But it was certainly insurance against another such attempt.

"Ah!" he gasped as the Mark on his arm flared to life. "What?" he said in disbelief. His master rarely called him during the day, knowing that he had duties to attend here. But right now, and with such urgency? He could think of only one thing that would elicit such an action from the Dark Lord.

"It's Potter," he said, and felt a weight drop onto his shoulders. If the boy had not completed the task Albus had given him then Severus would have to rescue the boy, somehow. He would have to do it in some way that would not lead to his exposure as a . . . whatever he was. He wasn't a spy, not anymore. He was not even truly double-crossing anyone, now. He had no label, no clear mission. Just to stand until Potter was finished.

He didn't know how he was going to keep Potter from the Dark Lord. But he couldn't plan it until he saw the situation for himself, and keeping his master waiting was a very poor idea.

He Flooed Amycus in his classroom office to inform him that he would be out of the school for a bit, and received a knowing leer. Merlin, but the Carrows were horrible little creatures. He didn't know which of the two was worse.

With that thought, he departed for Malfoy Manor, and his master.

The whole place was in an uproar when he arrived. He could hear people arguing in the dining hall that served them as a meeting room, the swearing and shouting sort of argument. House elves were bustling to and fro, looking frightened, some of them sporting very recent self-inflicted injuries. He steeled himself to hear about some kind of attack perpetrated by the Order, one he should have been omniscient enough to see coming and so should have warned them about.

He emptied his mind, as much as possible. He called to mind the things he knew about Sirius Black and the Order of the Phoenix, and let them fill up his consciousness, beginning to select the things he could actually say. It wasn't as though he hadn't said it all before, but his master was the sort of person who liked to reiterate important information. He would keep it simple and direct, and he would allow nothing that was not on this topic into his conscious thoughts.

His unconscious thoughts were hidden, wrapped up in a maze of complexity, of swirling mental fog that was the metaphor he'd chosen for himself. Other people's defenses were more direct—a wall, a box, a locked door—while his was a work of art. An ever-shifting fog that was so obscure, no one could tell it was a defense. Anyone with a minor knowledge of Legilimency simply assumed he didn't think much, or that he was a confused person.

He walked into the room. The Dark Lord was standing extremely still, at the head of the table. All three of the Lestranges were shouting at one another, while Hunter and Saarsgard stared at the table-top, looking murderously upset. Hunter had blood soaking his shirt, and Saargard was sporting the hives-like rash produced by a Stinging Hex. Which made no sense, because if Severus knew anything about the Order, it was that they took themselves too seriously to use such juvenile techniques. The only people who would deign to use such spells, that might go up against the Death Eaters, was . . . but what could have led to this group going up against members of Potter's Defense League?

He looked directly at his master, lowering his head in submission, trying to keep his thoughts locked down tight, whether they were relevant now or not.

"My lord, I came as soon as I could. What's happened?"

The Lestrange brothers began trying to speak over one another. They quit when the Dark Lord cut a silent look at them, going pale and shutting their mouths. Severus had to hide a smirk at how bad Rabastan looked. He was terribly battered.

"What has happened, Severus," the master said in a cold, clear voice, "is that a child you assured me was nothing more than a braggart has managed to infiltrate our headquarters and to steal our possessions."

Severus felt the bottom dropping out from under him, felt it with a sickened dizziness that he masked with the ease of long practice. He held it in, and kept his voice impossibly steady.

"Are you speaking of Potter, my lord?"

Voldemort bared his teeth and hissed. Well, that was an unusual response, but if what he was saying was true, then Severus could understand the outburst. If he held Severus to blame for not foreseeing this, he had no defense.

"He came here?"

"Look what he did to my wife!" Rodolphus shouted, jerking Bellatrix's head to the side to reveal the raw-looking wound to her ear. It looked like . . . a bite mark? Actually, it looked rather like the marks Rodolphus placed on her from time to time, since Merlin knew he couldn't get it up for her without the sight of blood. But _Potter_ had done it, and that was too impossible to be believed.

"And he took something?"

"He took the key to our vault," Bellatrix said, and her eyes were far away, almost dreamy, despite the rough way her husband was jerking her head around. "Right off my neck. While I was bleeding."

If Severus was gathering this correctly, Harry Potter had somehow gotten into Malfoy Manor, and sexually assaulted a crazy person so he could steal her gold. While he could believe Potter had the resources and intelligence necessary to do so, he could not think of a reason for it. It didn't make sense with what he knew of Potter—what he really knew, not what he said he knew based on the way Potter presented himself to the Dark Lord.

Not able to make sense of the angry ramblings of the Lestrange family, he turned back to his master and bowed his head, waiting to understand why he was here.

"Tell me how this happened, Severus."

He straightened, and made his face level, almost serene. He was a Death Eater, fulfilling the role he played for them. He was not a liar, and the information he was giving them was true and accurate. He replaced his thoughts about the Order with these thoughts, and asked the question he needed to protect himself.

"Tell me more, my lord. Tell me what he did, and what he said."

And so Severus learned of how Potter had disguised himself as both Markowicz and Rodolphus himself, stolen the key from Bellatrix, and used his friends to help him breeze right into the bank vault—and also of how the Dark Lord had confronted him when he had fallen asleep a few minutes ago, and Potter's own explanation for his actions.

Then the Dark Lord's burning eyes became more focused on him, and Severus took a deep breath.

"This seems typical of his arrogant, juvenile ideas," he said scathingly. "Of course he would think it was amusing to make us believe he could harm us. It is so very much like Potter to break into a bank vault for fun rather than for gain. He is a child, as you said yourself, and he acts like one. I must admit, my lord, that I have misjudged his capabilities. I did not believe he possessed the ability to plan such a complex scheme. In fact, I would believe it was more likely that Potter got advice from Black. Black has always thought of himself as clever."

"So you do not think he was lying?" the master asked harshly. "You think he truly was gloating over such a ridiculous victory?"

"He probably thought this was just like winning a Quidditch game," Severus said dryly. "He will never grow up, not so long as he listens to Black."

The Dark Lord took a breath, his slitted nostrils flaring, then spun on his heel and marched from the room, shouting "Find that brat and bring him to me!"

Severus followed him. "My lord, there is one thing we have not yet tried, but one that I think may bring Potter out of hiding."

"Is that so?" he snapped.

"For all his inadequacies, Potter is extremely loyal to his friends," Severus ventured.

He had to do this, and he did not allow himself to think about whether or not he wanted to. What he wanted was to be a perfect Death Eater, to be in position by his master's side at that climactic moment that he also did not allow himself to think about. That climactic moment needed Potter's success to happen, but Severus had to be as helpful as possible in bringing Potter to them. It was a fine line to walk. He had to make this suggestion, and he had to hope that Potter would know better than to take the bait.

"We know their location of some of his friends, my lord. The time is right to strike them. Potter will hear about our attack, and he will come rushing to their rescue. We will have him, then. We do not need to expend our efforts looking for him. We can bring him to us, and we can deal with some of our other enemies at the same time."

His master stared at him for a long time, brushing over his mind with an amazingly delicate touch. He would not find anything. He had never found anything, not in Severus.

"You have someone in mind for the first attack?"

"I do."

"Bellatrix will be in charge of planning this," he said with finality.

"After she allowed Potter to steal from her, in her own room?"

His lip curled. "I have seen her memory, and I do not hold her responsible. That insolent brat was a compelling actor. She is who I want in charge of this attack. I will see to it, Severus. Return to your students."

"Yes, my lord," he said with a final bow. He was intensely grateful to have escaped the wrath that his lord was keeping contained until he found a good release. He would depart immediately, and maybe then he could finally get that thrice-damned cup of tea he'd been tricked out of. . .

"Severus. Tell me why tea is suddenly so important to you," the master said in a silky voice.

His heart jumped. He had not even known the Dark Lord was still watching his thoughts. His instinct to create a convincing lie was not worth the effort this time, so he simply told the truth about the attempted poisoning.

"And what are your plans to punish the culprits?"

"I have none," Severus said calmly.

"Explain."

"Let them think I am invincible," he said with a slight smirk. "Let them think I drank poison and that it cannot kill me."

Next thing he knew, he was on the floor, stunned by the pain reverberating through his body.

"You dare!" his master was seething, yelling at him. "You dare to aspire to what I have done! You think you can claim you have accomplished what I have done! I will not allow it!"

Severus was beyond surprised. He had meant nothing of the kind, and he had assumed his master would appreciate his reasoning. But he hadn't, and Severus knew better than to resent the fact that he had not judged his master properly. He'd expected to be left in peace to run the school as he saw fit, and instead was being subjected to the _Cruciatus_ curse. There was nothing he could do to stop it. This was his master. This was what a Death Eater lived with to serve the Dark Lord Voldemort. This was his life.

_Potter, whatever you are doing, you must hurry. You haven't much time._

* * *

Dora giggled when Remus splayed his hands across her gently rounded belly, his fingers sliding slowly over the taut skin. He had an almost goofy smile on his face, his joy so obvious he thought it could be seen from space. She was sitting in their armchair, and he was slowly lowering himself down to kneel on the floor in front of her. He placed a soft kiss on her growing belly, and his fingers felt the signs of life inside.

"I love you, too, but you must be still now so that your mama can sleep," he whispered to her womb.

Her fingers brushed over his hair. He looked up at her with his blinding smile, and said nothing. Her hand slid over his cheek, which was stubbled with two days' growth of beard, and his look at her deepened.

"I can't wait until this baby is born," he murmured.

Her fingers clenched convulsively. "Me, either."

He laid his cheek on her leg and sighed. "I can still hardly believe we're married, and here we are with a baby on the way. It's going to be wonderful, when this war is over, and we can have a proper house. We'll have Simon back, and we'll finally get the chance to be a family . . ."

"With bedrooms far, far apart," she said in a low voice.

His hand ran over her thigh. "Yes. That goes without saying."

"Remus? You know that I'm happy, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"This little place, out in the middle of nowhere, with an important task to do—it might not seem like much to anyone else, but I'm happy here. I'm happy wherever you are."

"Yes, I do know that. Finally."

"Good. Now let me up so I can pee."

"You just did, five minutes ago," he chuckled, but he stood up and held out his hands to help her to her feet. He pecked her cheek as she playfully pushed him aside. "You're very brave, Dora my love."

"And don't you forget it," she grumbled.

Once she'd closed the bathroom door, he sank down into the armchair himself, and sighed deeply. Yes, he really had finally come to accept that she loved him and she'd take him the way he was. Just in time, really, with their child coming—

"Remus! Is that the alarm at the gate?"

"Yes!" he shouted, his heart leaping into his throat.

"Is my wand on the table?"

"Dora, don't you dare! Stay here! Stay safe!"

He bolted out the door, feeling sick. Yorick and Neil pulled night duty so the married folks could have time to themselves. For the two of them to see trouble they couldn't handle could only mean one thing.

"Boss!" Neil shouted as he and Yorick shoved the gate shut. "It's bad!"

"What is it?"

"Death Eaters! Lots of them! Greyback is here!"

Remus just stared at them in shock. This was it, then. They'd finally made enough nuisance of themselves to merit this visit, one he'd known would come eventually. They couldn't hide their location forever, and while no one could Apparate within this area, that didn't mean the walls couldn't be—

BOOM.

The first wave of attack on the gate made the entire wall around the compound shudder. The rest of the werewolves were spilling out of the cabins now, more or less clothed. Jeremy was down to his pants, and Laura was clutching a blanket around her shoulders to hide her nightie. Franka, thankfully, took the time to put _on_ a nightie before running out into the open.

"What's happening?"

"Are we being attacked?"

"Remus, what is it?"

The panicked shouts were too loud, and he needed to think. But there was no time to think, there was only moments, and then they'd be—

BOOM.

Another shudder.

"Okay!" Remus shouted. "Listen to me!" Heads that had not already been turned his way came to attention. "We'll hold them off as long as we can, but they will eventually get through that gate! Yorick, Neil, Franka, and I, will keep them distracted once that happens, while the rest of you run outside the Apparation wards and get the hell out of here! We'll follow you when we can, and we'll meet up again at the Ministry tomorrow morning. Got it?"

"But you can't hold them all off!" Laura wailed.

"We can hold them long enough," Remus growled, locking eyes with Yorick and Neil. Franka hurried to his side.

"Me?" she asked.

Remus nodded sharply. "You're a good fighter, Franka." He took a deep breath. "And you're single."

Her eyes gleamed with understanding, reflecting the moonlight. "You're not," she said simply.

He took a deep breath. "I can't tell you to risk your life for me, Franka, while I run to safety. Not me."

She said nothing more, but darted away to meet up with the two guards. He felt a presence at his shoulder, and turned to see that Dora was at his side.

"No!" he roared. "Stay back until we clear a safe path out of the gate!"

She glared at him. "Are you _joking_? I'm an _Auror_!"

"You're _pregnant_! Keep yourself and the baby safe!"

Then there was no more time to argue, for just then, the gate collapsed with a roar of flame.

* * *

"Good. Add the next ingredient."

"Which is . . ."

"Merlin, what am I, your textbook? I thought you said you studied this before we started brewing it."

"I did! That doesn't mean I can remember the whole thing."

"It's the diced pods, there. Which I would hardly call diced, by the way, more like roughly cut in half."

"They're diced!"

"Well, just add them and hope it doesn't melt your cauldron."

"There. My cauldron is still solid."

"Good enough. Now stir."

"Clockwise?"

"Yes, clockwise."

Sirius hid his grin behind his copy of the latest edition of _The Quibbler_. He'd gotten a tip that it was a good read, this time. Surprisingly, it was. It was dedicated to supporting the mysteriously absent Harry Potter, and declaring that if he was absent, it was because he was trying to fight Voldemort. And possibly because he was having secret sessions with the also-absent Minister Bones, although she at least had graciously continued to correspond with the outside world from time to time.

He was reading this magazine while he watched a great bit of entertainment in the Potions laboratory that had somehow, through no consent of his own, sprung up in his house. He had been trying to teach Simon his third-year coursework, and also trying to coach Draco on his NEWT studies. Tonight, they were acting on the theory that Draco would benefit from presiding over Simon's Potions lesson. Turned out they were both benefiting, in so far as they were both getting to practice holding their temper when someone was needling them.

"Okay. Are you done?"

"I don't know. Am I?"

"You tell me, Billings. You're the one who is brewing this potion. You need to be able to tell when the mixture has reached its stable point."

Simon peered doubtfully into his cauldron, stirred it twice more, and looked up. "I'm done."

"Thank Merlin," Sirius muttered. "It's late. You boys clean up your mess, and then Simon needs to go to bed."

Simon shot him a glare. "Draco doesn't have to go to bed."

"Draco is nearly eighteen years old and currently has steady employment in this laboratory. You, Mr. Billings, can claim neither. Clean up the lab, and get to bed. You have a full day of studying ahead of you tomorrow."

The look he was getting from Simon declared his undying hatred for Sirius, but Sirius was willing to put up with it. Simon didn't have to like him, didn't have to like his studies or his rules or anything about him, really. He just had to do it, anyway. When Remus was ready to bring him back home, he'd find out that Sirius was quite lenient, all things considered.

Draco, wisely, did not smirk, gloat, or anything of the sort. He was carefully returning all his ingredients to their rightful places and pretending he couldn't hear Simon's complaints. Shocking, from that one. Sirius didn't think the kid had that much maturity in him. Maybe he was actually growing up.

There was a banging downstairs, loud banging. Someone knocking, with a sort of desperate urgency to it. Sirius was becoming used to this sort of thing, and he jumped up and hurried for the stairs to go down to get the door. He stopped in shock at the top of the flight when the door opened and people began spilling into his home. He had his wand out and his first hex ready when he recognized them.

"Remus!" he shouted, rushing down the stairs. "Remus, my god, what happened?"

Remus was bleeding from a really nasty gash on his head, and he was helping his wife carry Neil between them. Behind them were Jeremy and Addison, who were attempting to hold one another up despite the fact that they had both obviously suffered hexes that affected their ability to walk.

"Death Eater attack," Remus grunted. "We've got to see to Neil right away."

Sirius took Neil's arm, gently nudging Dora out of the way, and they hefted the nearly-unconscious man up the stairs.

"At the compound? How many?"

"All of 'em," Neil grunted, then his head lolled back, spilling ashes from his long hair. The room was beginning to smell strongly of woodsmoke and burnt skin.

Sirius looked at Remus.

"I'm not sure. Twenty-five? That included Greyback and the men he's gathered."

Draco and Simon were standing in the door of the Potions lab, looking concerned and curious. Draco immediately ducked back inside at the sight of Neil, and began clearing off his large table.

"Merlin's wrinkled sack," Sirius muttered. "Where's everyone else?"

Remus didn't answer him. They heaved Neil up onto the table, and Remus immediately turned to grab hold of Dora and shake her by the shoulders.

"I told you to stay safe," he scolded. There was no strength in his words. She gripped him back and buried her face in his shoulder. He put his hands on her shoulders, asking her in a soft murmur about the baby, wrapping an isolated pocket of grief around them.

Sirus looked at Jeremy and Addison, who were both weeping, leaving clean trails through the smear of dirt, blood, and ash coating their faces.

"We are everyone," Addison whispered.

"Everyone is dead," Jeremy confirmed.

"Oh no," Sirius said. "Oh, no."

He looked at Remus, but his old friend was stroking his wife's hair and wearing a hard, impenetrable expression. There was no point trying to say anything to him now. He turned instead to Neil, who was already being looked over by Draco. The blond boy was looking at his pupils, and making him move each appendage in turn. He looked up at Sirius and shook his head hopelessly. They weren't Healers, here, despite the practice they'd been getting.

"We should take Neil to the hospital," Sirius said. "The rest of you, stay here. Clean yourselves up. I'll take him."

Jeremy and Addison nodded. She leaned her head on her man's arm and sobbed, "Yorick."

Sirius met Jeremy's eyes.

"He . . . he was still alive, even at the end after all the fighting he'd done," Jeremy said, struggling to get the words out. "He sacrificed himself to make sure we got out. He held them off while we ran, he made sure they were busy until they couldn't follow our Apparation. And Franka . . ." Jeremy couldn't explain.

Remus shuddered, gripping Dora even more tightly.

Sirius wanted to help, to comfort as best he could. But there was a gravely injured man on the table who needed help. He grabbed hold of Neil and looked at Simon. "Help me get him downstairs to the Floo," he said.

Looking white and shaken, Simon moved to obey. They hurried down, not bothering to make it gentle. He needed medical attention too badly to worry about that.

"Everybody I know," Simon was muttering. "Everybody's dead."

"Simon, are you okay?" Sirius asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

Simon shook his head. "If I'd been there, I'd be dead," he said. "Remus was right to send me here. And now . . ."

And now . . . Sirius couldn't finish the thought, either. After all they'd worked for, they were dead. All their hopes and dreams, placed in Remus' hands, and instead they were drawn into war and slaughtered. So many people he'd come to know and love. And he felt a cold pit growing deep in his belly.

_If Harry hears about this, what will he do?_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

"Do you think it's in the Malfoy's vault?"

To anyone who had arrived in the last half hour, the question would have appeared totally random. Harry lay flat on his back with one arm outstretched, and Hermione lay atop his arm, curled onto her side and most of her unclothed body pressed against him. He was using his free hand to comb his fingers through her hair. But then, no one could have arrived recently, or at all. They were well-hidden.

They had begun talking about the Ravenclaw Horcrux close to an hour ago, and become terribly distracted. It was Hermione's fault. She hadn't bothered buttoning up her shirt when she dressed, since they were just sitting around the tent studying, and she'd looked so beautiful, her head bent over a book and her hair tumbling around her shoulders. She knew how she'd looked, too, and she'd turned her eyes on him in a most bewitching way . . .

But it was time to get back to business. No matter how incredible it was to finally add this new level to their relationship, they had other things to do. They'd allowed days, maybe even weeks, to slip by since they'd robbed the Lestrange vault, spending countless hours learning the secrets of one another's bodies. Harry had a little more experience, but he had never been in this kind of relationship before, and the newness and excitement of it had taken up time they knew they couldn't afford.

"What day is it?" was Hermione's response.

"I don't know. Why?"

"We need to figure that out. We've been wasting a lot of time."

His hand stilled in her hair. "I wouldn't call it a total wash or anything . . ."

He could feel her smile against his skin. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know what you mean. We need to get back to work. Hence, my question. Do you think it's in the vault?"

"No."

"Me, either. I think it's in their house."

Hermione levered herself up so she could grin at him. "And we're sure this isn't just wishful thinking, because we know we'll never be able to pull off _two_ bank heists?"

Harry chuckled at that, pulling her back down on top of him. "Don't get up, I was comfortable. And no, that's not why. But I love saying I was involved in a bank heist."

She gave him a gentle slap on the belly. "Focus. I don't think it's in Gringotts because I don't know for sure the Malfoys would have it. But why do you think it's in their house?"

"Because the diary was," Harry answered.

"What?" she gasped.

"Dumbledore knew that someone had to give it to Neville, and he was able to get inside Neville's memories to see that he'd acquired it during a shopping trip before school that year, when he'd run into the Malfoys. Neville's memories clearly showed that he had no diary before the encounter, but he did afterward. There was some confusion over whether it was him or Ginny Weasley who was meant to pick it up . . ."

Hermione shuddered at that. "But she was a new student, and she was so little! The only reason anyone knew anything was wrong with Neville was because we knew him already! If the diary had taken Ginny, people could have _died_ before anyone knew!"

Harry's lips pinched shut, thinking about what a condemnation of Lucius Malfoy's character that was. Ever since he'd started thinking about the Horcrux being hidden in the Malfoy's home, he'd been worried about his own home. Draco had been raised by that man, and what if it wasn't truly possible to reform him? What if he'd been a plant all along, or had simply made up his mind to go back to the Death Eaters? What if Sirius was dead?

"Harry? Are you all right?"

He'd been quiet too long. But he didn't want to tell her what he was thinking.

"In any case, they're the only people I can think of who might still have one. Riddle wouldn't have trusted anyone else enough to give them one, not with traitors popping up on both sides of the war."

"But what if he simply hid it, like he did with the locket?"

Harry sighed. "That's more likely. But I can't rule Malfoy Manor out until I've checked."

Hermione's arm went possessively over his chest. "I don't want you to go back there."

"I'd be perfectly safe," he responded.

"How on earth can you say that?"

He grinned at her. "The only thing they'd expect less than me strolling in there disguised as one of them, is if I did it twice. They'd never think I'd do it again."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Neither do I, but we have to try. If he hid it, instead of giving it to one of his followers, then we'll never find it. I just . . . have to check to see if it's there. I can't imagine where to begin, and I can't do nothing, so I'll start with this. At the very least, maybe I can get somebody to talk about it."

"If it's not in the Manor, who would know anything about it, except Riddle?"

Harry sighed again. If that was true, he'd have to find his way into Riddle's head to _dig_ the knowledge out. The easiest way to do it would be to stand right in front of him. And Hermione knew it. She shuddered and clutched him as close as she could, and Harry could only be grateful she didn't know the extent of his thoughts. He wasn't ready to tell her everything. Not yet.

"Will we go tonight?" she whispered.

"No. I need to prepare. Also, there's something I've been wanting to do for a long time, and I think we should do it today."

Hermione made a face at him. "If this is that weird sexual position you were trying to explain to me, then—"

"No. Not that. This is important."

"What is it?"

* * *

"Mum, Dad, this is my girlfriend, Hermione Granger. Hermione, my parents."

She squeezed his hand and didn't say anything.

"I've always wished that I could bring a girl home to meet them," Harry said, looking down. "It's okay if you think it's weird or if it doesn't mean anything to you, but I just . . . needed to say that out loud."

She leaned her head on his arm. "It means quite a lot to me, actually. Thank you, Harry."

They stood before the headstones in silence for some time. Hermione kept hold of Harry's hand while his eyes continually traced the letters and numbers that spelled out his tragic history. There was no one else he could imagine bringing to this place, no one else he'd ever want to see him this way. But he couldn't imagine _not_ having Hermione here, at least once in his life. She was his girl, the one he'd bring home if he could. She ought to be allowed to see this part of him. And her presence at his side, supporting him even though she was silent, showed her gratitude for letting her in.

It was enough, he thought. Even if he couldn't really introduce her to his parents, the act was basically a symbolic gesture anyway, and this fulfilled it just fine.

"If I was bringing you home, this is probably the part where my mother would get uncomfortable and ask if we were going to share a room or if she should make up the sofa for me, and my dad would start cracking disgusting jokes . . . Well, Sirius does that part already, so good enough."

His words broke the spell, and they began walking out of the graveyard. It was freezing cold outside, which would indicate that they'd wasted more time having sex and reading aloud to each other than they'd thought. They huddled close together as they walked, even though they'd donned their heavy cloaks. They exited the little cemetery and made sure to shut the gate behind them.

Crouching just out of sight, Antonin Dolohov was frozen, gaping. He'd seen two people he didn't know standing in the cemetery where James and Lily Potter were buried, which was just strange enough to investigate. They were in disguise, but they'd used their names. He couldn't believe it. Harry Potter, hand in hand with Hermione Granger, right here in the middle of Godric's Hollow. Were they _stupid_? He was supposed to be here to scout out the home of Elphias Doge so they could plan their raid. And here were the two people his master wanted more than anything in the world.

He ran. He went as far away as he dared to go before Apparating to Malfoy Manor, hoping it was far enough that the sound wouldn't carry. He rushed inside, and was lucky enough to find Lucius in his study with Rabastan Lestrange and Theseus Yaxley.

"Master— not— back— yet?" he panted.

"Not until tomorrow," Lucius said, standing up with the same implacable grace he always showed. "What is it? Has something happened with Doge?"

He shook his head, bracing his hands on his knees and gasping for air. Merlin, he was getting old and out of shape.

"_Potter_—" he rasped. "And girl. Granger. In Godric's Hollow. Now."

"You are certain it was they, and not another in disguise to lure us into a trap?"

"Not certain, no," he said, raising his head as he finally caught his breath. "But they were in the graveyard where the Potters are buried, and they called each other Harry and Hermione."

"We must investigate," Lucius decided. "Rabastan, your brother."

The man nodded and bolted from the room. It would have been nice to have his brother's wife as well, but she had accompanied their master on his trip to liaison with some wizards in Scandinavia. As had Crabbe, Goyle, a couple of other thugs, and Grayback's little pack. They were operating on low manpower this week, in the hopes that they'd have allies abroad at the end of it.

So it was Dolohov, Malfoy, and the Lestrange brothers who Apparated in the middle of the street with a series of echoing cracks just moments before Harry and Hermione would have returned to their campsite. Before they had even got their bearings on the ground, they heard a girl shrieking in surprise.

Harry didn't wait to find out if the people arriving were friend, foe, or somebody's grandparents coming for tea. He was pretty sure he knew, and he wasn't about to begin this duel exposed in the middle of the street. He grabbed Hermione and literally _threw_ her over the fence around the cemetery.

"Get behind the mausoleum, and fight for all you're worth!" he shouted, then sprinted behind the nearest house. Their only hope was going to be separating their opponents. And maybe, just maybe, a few of the residents would be disturbed and call the Aurors. He was _praying_ somebody called the Aurors, as he peeked around the house, saw who was here, and broke into a cold sweat. Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Lupin would be an awfully welcome sight right now.

Dolohov and Malfoy came after him, which made his heart leap into his throat. That left Hermione with the Lestrange brothers, at least one of whom was a confirmed sadist. He had to get to her. Now.

"_Stupefy!_"

"Nice try, sonny!" Dolohov shouted. "Child's play, is it? Well, _Expelliarmus_!"

Harry was incensed. This man thought he could joke around? Harry wasn't joking. Not with the Elder Wand in his hand. He heard Hermione scream in pain, and let go of all rational thought. Spells just started coming. He wasn't thinking about them, wasn't choosing them consciously.

Anything to cause them pain. Anything to get them out of his way.

Dolohov fell screaming, a Blasting curse having destroyed most of his legs below the knees. Harry was able to nab his wand while he was busy trying not to bleed to death. Malfoy, shocked at the brutality, leaped back before narrowing his eyes and shooting a curse that should have flayed off every inch of Harry's skin. Harry blocked it with a casual ease that made the blond man's eyes widen. Not for nothing had Harry spent nearly every day for the last five years learning and practicing everything about dueling he could find out. Hermione was screaming. Harry would get to her. _Now_.

"_Stupefy_!" he bellowed. Lucius Malfoy was lifted from his feet, carried through the air, and slammed into the side of a house.

"What's going on out there?" the occupant of the house roared from the upstairs window. Seeing the duel, his face went pale and he slammed the window shut.

Harry vaulted the fence and ran deeper into the cemetery. Where were they?

Hermione had been backed into a corner, where she continued to hold off their spells with a fierce silence, her face looking carved from stone. One of her arms was raw with burn blisters, the sleeve of her shirt mostly gone and what little remained hanging in charred strips. But no matter how well she fought back, they continued to get closer. Rodolphus took the brunt of the magical work, and Hermione seemed to realise only suddenly that Rabastan was literally close enough to reach out and grab her.

She flung herself away from the tombstone with a cry of sheer panic, but Rabastan had grabbed her arm. Stunned, she just looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You're bloody gorgeous when you've got your dander up," he said with a fierce grin, and swooped his head down to kiss her.

She yelped, and jerked her head back. Her lip was caught in his teeth and came away bloody. She slapped him soundly, and while he was reeling from the shock and while Rodolphus was laughing at him, she snatched his wand out of his hand.

With a shriek of triumph, she turned both wands on Rodolphus, ready to Stun him into next week. But Harry had launched forward with a roar of outrage, and punched Rodolphus in the throat. Eyes bulging, he fell to his knees.

"You—" Harry spun to face Rabastan. "You— _Crucio_!"

Rabastan fell to the ground, his face draining of colour and his fingers digging into the cold earth. He gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut, but he couldn't hold in his pain for long. He started to scream.

"Harry! Harry, stop!"

Hermione pounded her fists into his chest. The spell, and Rabastan's screams, cut off abruptly. Harry took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Let's go," Hermione urged, grabbing his hand and dragging him along. He stumbled, then realised what she wanted and followed her. "Come on, please, let's hurry."

What had he just done? He wasn't sure he could even understand what he'd done. It had been terrible. He hadn't known . . . hadn't known he could do that. He'd felt the power of the wand in his hand, power he'd barely begun to tap into. And then he'd heard her screaming, and he'd just . . . done things. Awful things. Blown up a man's legs, and used an Unforgivable. _Again_. This was no Imperius curse, either. This had been about hurting him.

Rabastan was trying to pick himself up to chase after them, even though Hermione was still holding his wand.

"Bastard! Come back here!"

They ran out of the cemetery. Harry wondered where they were going. They couldn't go to their campsite, Rabastan would have helped his brother by now, and they'd be followed. They ran right past Dolohov, who had dragged himself over to the still-unconscious Malfoy. Hermione gasped in shock when she saw them, but they didn't stop running until Harry recovered his wits enough to grab her, spin, and Disapparate the hell out of Godric's Hollow.

He went to the campsite first, to throw off any pursuit, but left immediately. There was only one place to go, with Hermione so badly injured. And there was one person Harry desperately wanted to see right now. He landed them right on the doorstep, and ended up having to kick the door with his foot instead of knock, because Hermione started to swoon and he had to catch her.

Unexpectedly, it was Neil who opened the door. He and Harry stared at one another dumbly for a moment, then he blinked and shouted,

"Draco, you'd better get a table clear in the lab!"

"What is it this time?" floated a haughty voice from the top of the stairs. "If Simon went out and picked a fight with a Muggle again, I swear by Merlin he can patch himself up this time."

Hermione was managing the stairs on her own feet, so long as Harry kept an arm around her. Neil followed cautiously behind, ready to catch them if they fell. Draco saw them from the landing, and he gaped.

"Oh. You're here. What happened to your _face_?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "Look, Hermione's hurt, we've got to take care of her."

"Ooo," Draco said, looking at her arm with a sympathetic wince. "Okay, but you'd better do something about your face while I get started on her arm."

Confused, Harry put an exploratory hand on his cheek, and had no idea what he was feeling except a lot of blood. Then the pain finally registered, and Harry's vision went white for a moment. He gasped for breath, and nearly dropped Hermione. He passed her off to Draco and stumbled into the bathroom to look.

"Oh my god," he mumbled. His cheek had been cut open just under his eye, and the arc of the cut had nearly severed his cheek from his face, leaving a flap of skin hanging down to his jawline. He could see his own _teeth_, for Merlin's sake. At least he thought he could, although it was hard to tell with all the blood. "Ow," he groaned. He had no idea when that had happened. Or maybe he had. He remembered seeing a triumphant smile cross Dolohov's face, briefly, and he sort of remembered him snarling something like "ruin you, pretty boy." But it was too much of a blur. _Sectumsempra_, maybe?

He was so horrified by the sight of the injury that he couldn't think what to do. He lowered his hand, and winced in new pain. He discovered that there was a rent in his clothes and patch of skin sliced from his shoulder, too.

The door flew open, banging into the wall. Harry spun around with his wand out, a growl escaping him.

"Harry?" Sirius whispered. "Oh, Harry, your face."

This was who he had so desperately needed to see. He dropped his wand, not caring where it went, and slumped into Sirius' arms.

"It hurts," he whimpered.

"All right, we'll patch it up. Come on, let's get you into the lab. You're all right now," Sirius said soothingly, his arm going around Harry to support him as he shuffled forward through pain that was nearly blinding him. He settled onto the edge of a work table, taking brief notice of the fact that Neil and Draco were both surrounding Hermione to treat her burns. Sirius held out a potion, and Harry didn't bother asking what it was. He drank it down, and couldn't help the stinging tears that fell from his eyes at how badly it hurt to drink. Some of the potion was dribbling out of the hole in his face.

Suddenly, he felt awfully sleepy. Sirius' arm was around him again, and he thought he was sinking. Everything was black and red and glowing with pain, and he just drifted away.

* * *

Harry woke up in his room, feeling very groggy. He felt sure that he wasn't supposed to be in his room, but he couldn't remember why. He stretched his arms and started to yawn, then froze. There were bandages on his face and his shoulder, which felt very stiff.

The memories of what had happened slammed into him, and he groaned. They shouldn't have come here, but he'd had very little choice, with their injuries. And he'd been feeling such _terror_, all he could think of was getting to his godfather. Sirius had always taken care of him, since he was just a boy, and it was all he could think of. He was so stupid.

He got up very cautiously, and shuffled into the bathroom. First things first. After seeing to the necessary, and washing his hands very thoroughly, he peeled back the bandage on his cheek. He held his breath.

Wow. Sirius, or whoever he'd gotten to help him, had done a great job. His cheek was pink with irritation, and there was a perfectly visible line of scar arcing beside his nose and underneath his eye. But there wasn't a grotesque, oozing hole, which was nice to see. He pulled the bandage from his shoulder to discover a large patch of pink skin. He left the bandages off, knowing he ought to be smearing more dittany on it but quite unwilling to do so until he'd checked on Hermione.

He ran into Remus, out in the hallway.

"Oh, hello," he said, befuddled. What was Remus doing here? Come to think of it, why had Neil been here? And how long ago had that been?

"Harry," Remus said with a smile, reaching out cautiously to embrace him. "Nice to see you awake."

"How long was I out?"

"You got here yesterday afternoon. You started to wake up last night, but Sirius dosed you again because he didn't want you to move your face until morning. It's morning now, by the way."

"Oh. Where's Hermione?"

Remus jerked his thumb. "Getting checked out in the lab."

Harry decided the rest of his questions could wait. He hurried to the lab, then, inexplicably, stopped short in the doorway. He stood there without making a sound, watching Sirius and Draco look over Hermione's arm. It looked very good, all shiny and pink but healing so cleanly it wouldn't even scar.

Why was he feeling so reluctant to call attention to himself? He felt a strange churning in his stomach. Guilt. He was feeling guilt. Why?

The weight of what had happened yesterday began to settle over him. He'd put her in danger by taking her to Godric's Hollow, no matter if they'd been in disguise. They'd been too careless. And then . . . the things he'd done. Awful things. She'd seen them. She'd seen him standing there with half his face sliced off, using the _Cruciatus_ Curse on someone.

He didn't even want her to see him right now. He ducked away, and went back to his room. He felt sick to his stomach. He saw that his wand, the Elder Wand, had been placed on his nightstand, and he felt like he wanted to snap it in half and toss the pieces into the fire. But rumour had it couldn't be destroyed, not until its power had been broken. Which meant he had to die undefeated in battle before that could happen.

He began to shiver, and crawled back under his blankets. He thought he'd better die soon, before his need to be undefeated brought about things even worse than yesterday. Not like he wasn't already planning—

Someone knocked on his door.

"Come in."

"Oh, good, you're awake," Hermione said as she entered. She broke into a happy smile. "Your face looks much better than I was expecting."

"I guess you were expecting a monster," he mumbled.

She cocked her head in puzzlement, but she came over to the bed and grabbed his hands. She tugged on him.

"Come on, Harry, Draco said you should come to the lab. The scar shouldn't be too bad."

"Maybe it should be," he mumbled as he followed her directive.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She pulled him back to the lab, where Draco was rearranging a few bottles on a shelf. His shelves were looking a little scanty, these days. Was everyone in the Order now too afraid of being in public to go to the hospital?

"Oh, you're up," Draco said without inflection. "Sit down, I want to put a little more dittany on that."

Harry sat, and allowed Draco to slather the stuff on his face. He sized Draco up while he was sitting there. Draco looked a little bit worn out. But not nearly so unhappy as Harry had gotten used to him being, which was a good sign. And Sirius wasn't dead, so Harry's paranoid worry about Draco's true loyalties was unfounded, it would seem.

"Small favours," Harry sighed.

"What?" Draco frowned.

"Nothing. Thanks."

Draco shrugged and turned to put the jar back on the shelf.

"No, really, thank you." Harry put his hand on his cheek, which was still a little moist. "When I first saw it, I thought . . ."

"Sirius did the work on you. I was busy with your girlfriend, there."

"And thank you from me, too," Hermione said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What was I going to do, ignore you until you went away?"

Harry rolled his eyes right back. "'You're welcome' was really all you had to say, you prat." He swatted Draco's shoulder as he started to go by him. Then he turned back around. "Hey. What's going on around here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are Neil and Remus here?"

"Oh." Draco's face blanched. "You seriously don't know?"

"Don't know _what_?"

"About the compound."

"Draco, you'd better start talking."

Hermione came forward and clutched Harry's arm. Harry's stomach churned again, feeling like she should be running screaming from him instead. "Draco, what happened?"

Draco shook his head. "No. Not me. Go ask Sirius. Don't ask the werewolves, it hasn't really been long enough, and they're a little— well. Sirius said he'd be in the study."

Feeling apprehensive, they headed down there.

Sirius looked up with a smile when he saw them. "You two are looking much better than you did yesterday," he greeted them. "That's good news." His smile fell when he saw their faces. "What is it?"

"What's Draco talking about, with the werewolf compound? I asked why Remus and Neil were here, and he wouldn't tell me."

Sirius took a breath. "You'd better sit down."

* * *

Harry and Hermione were cooking dinner, insisting that they needed something productive to do after laying about for a whole day (not counting the part after they'd talked to Sirius and Harry had disappeared into the sparring room for over an hour), when they heard the front door open and sounds of greeting in the hall. They decided not to be nosy, despite wondering who had arrived, and were rewarded only moments later for their patience.

Tonks came in, her husband's arm around her waist, and smiled at them. "Hello, you two."

"Hello," they answered, but their eyes were on her stomach.

With an even bigger smile, her hands slid over her pregnant belly. "I know, I'm huge."

"And beautiful," Remus added, kissing her cheek. "Sit down, love."

She rolled her eyes when he directed her to a chair. "I'm fine, you know. I managed to work all day without breaking."

"And that was the last time," he said sternly.

She turned a persecuted look on the two cooks. "I had to tell Scrimgeour that today was my last day. I'm due in two weeks, and Remus says I'm not allowed to work anymore. Of course, I will be going back someday, when the baby's old enough to manage without me."

In Harry's private opinion, that was a poor choice of words, since a kid was _never_ old enough to manage without a mother. But he knew what she meant.

"You'd better enjoy your time off while it lasts," Hermione said wryly. "Babies are supposed to be terribly exhausting."

"That's assuming Addison ever lets me near my own child," Tonks said. "She professes to love babies."

"Addison loves everything," Remus smirked.

"I do?" came a voice from the hall. Addison peeked her head into the kitchen. "Oh! Hello, Harry. And you must be Hermione, I don't even think we've met properly!"

"Hello," Hermione said. "I'd love to shake your hand, but . . ." She held up her hands to show they were covered with crumbly goop.

"Oh, I see. Have you two finished your, um, whatever it was you've been doing all this time?"

"Not yet," Harry answered, looking up at her without stopping the motion of the knife in his hands, which made her cover her mouth with her hand in fright. "We just needed to make a sort of pit stop."

"So I hear," Addison said. "You look as though you've recovered well."

"Well enough to make dinner, anyway," Harry shrugged, looking back down at the cutting board.

"For which I must thank you," Addison said dramatically. "It was my turn to cook tonight, and I had the most horrible day."

"You're still wearing your name badge," Tonks pointed out.

Startled, Addison removed it. "You see?" she laughed. "I'm supposed to be the wine expert at this upscale grocer's, but apparently that means cleaning up the mess when a customer's bratty son throws a fit. Glass everywhere! And was she going to pay for the damage? Of course not! It was _my_ fault, because _I_ didn't tell the little terror not to climb the shelves." With a harrumph, she threw herself down into a chair. "I wish Jeremy was home. I want him to rub my back."

"Does he work late tonight?"

"No, he ought to be home any—"

"What's everyone doing in here?" Jeremy asked from the doorway.

"Oh, hello, dear," Addison smiled.

Jeremy's eyes swept over Harry and Hermione, but his first order of business was to go to the table and kiss Addison. Having been forewarned by Remus, the newcomers didn't ask if he was hurt—he'd been given a permanent limp due to an injury to his knee during the attack on the compound.

Jeremy saw the exhaustion on Addion's face and began to knead her knotted shoulders without her having to ask. The lines of stress had eased from her face as soon as she saw him, and now she slumped forward with a happy sigh. It clearly showed on the entire group's face that they were thinking the same thing: those two should just get married already. It made Harry and Hermione smile at one another.

Then another pang of guilt went through Harry, and he turned his eyes back on dinner preparations.

"Thank you for cooking," Jeremy said. "This poor woman needs a break."

"We're happy to help," Hermione spoke up for them. Harry could tell how puzzled she was by his behaviour. Honestly, didn't she have any sense at all? Why was she still trying to carry on like nothing was wrong?

"What are we having?"

"Breaded chicken and roasted vegetables."

Harry set aside the knife he'd been using to chop the potatoes and carrots and picked up the first of the herbs he'd selected.

"That's not thyme, is it?" Tonks spoke up, her face looking slightly green.

"No," Harry grinned. "Remus warned us."

"Oh, good," she said with relief. "I don't think I'm ever going to be able to eat thyme again."

"Well, you're not supposed to eat it, it's only a method of dividing solar and lunar phases into socially acceptable—" Remus was cut off by Tonks smacking him, but at least Hermione giggled.

Once they'd got the food into the oven, they moved everyone into the larger dining room, where Remus and Jeremy volunteered to set the table and let the ladies rest. Which Tonks snorted at, since she'd been relegated to desk work for two months already and could hardly get up for a glass of water without ten people jumping to attention and asking if she needed anything. Pregnancy was sort of uncharted territory in an office so predominated by men.

Sirius, Draco, and Simon all clomped down the stairs just around the time the food was coming out.

"Typical," Harry muttered, poking Sirius in the side. "You show up just _after_ all the work is done."

Sirius grimaced at him. "You think it's not work to supervise those two?" he muttered. "Draco is supposed to be giving Simon Potions lessons, to help him revise for his NEWTs, but mostly they just bicker like a pair of old women."

Simon came straight to the table, pausing only to drop a kiss on Tonks' cheek and say hello before plopping himself down with an expectant look. Draco, however, stood austerely in the hallway.

"I should be going," he announced to no one in particular. "Good evening."

"Nonsense," Hermione said, coming up behind him with the covered dish of chicken levitating in front of her. "Sit down, we made plenty."

Draco tried to retreat, but Hermione was directly behind him with a scorching hot piece of glass and a dangerous look. He had no choice but to enter the room. Harry, coming behind the two of them with the vegetables, was surprised at how forcefully Hermione was asserting herself in the household. She seemed determined to be cheerful in direct proportion to how melancholy he got.

The two of them had managed to create a decent meal, if the way everyone was eyeing it was any indication. It was a challenge to go from cooking for two to cooking for ten, but Harry felt pretty confident. But looking around the table, there were only nine . . .

"Hey, where's Neil?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Sleeping," Remus replied.

Everyone seemed to accept that, but Harry had no idea what was going on. A quick look at Hermione said she was just as puzzled. But they didn't want to ask, since it seemed like an uncomfortable subject. Sirius, who was seated beside Harry, took pity once the dishes were getting passed around and conversation started up. He leaned over and explained quietly.

"One of the curses he was hit with during the attack was a new one, and they haven't solved it yet. He gets these fits, kind of like seizures. Taking a sleeping potion seems to counter it, so he takes one when he feels it coming on. They used to happen every day, but they've been happening less often and less strong all the time, so we think they'll eventually go away. We think it was supposed to just send him into one long seizure until it killed him, but he got help really quickly."

"I hate to say it, but that's an impressive curse," Harry muttered.

Dinner was filled with these awkward moments, times when it was obvious that half the table was still grieving over what had happened. There would be pauses in conversation where it was clear someone was supposed to jump in—except that person was no longer with them. Surprisingly, it was Hermione who filled up these silences, asking brightly if the food was to their liking, what Jeremy's work was like, what was Draco's favourite potion to brew, how were Simon's studies coming along . . . Harry knew the girl was capable to talking nonstop for days, but he'd never seen her do it amongst so many people before.

When the meal was over, Harry began collecting empty dishes.

"We're all dying to know," Tonks suddenly spoke up. "What happened to the two of you yesterday?" Harry froze for a moment. "I mean, who were you dueling? Where?"

Harry forcefully grabbed a stack of plates and hurried to the kitchen. _None of their business_, his mind was chanting. How was he supposed to tell them? It was totally embarrassing to admit why they'd been in Godric's Hollow, for one thing. But more than that, he was ashamed. So, so ashamed of his actions. He couldn't tell the story, like it didn't matter. It wasn't a narrow escape to laugh at. Because he hadn't escaped, not really. Every moment it wasn't fully occupied, his mind leapt back to the sight of Rabastan Lestrange's screwed-up face, the way his lips finally parted in a scream . . .

"It was my father, wasn't it?"

Harry jumped. He hadn't heard the footsteps over the running water in the sink as he rinsed the plates. He looked up at Draco, who stood there was his arms full of more dishes and a pinched expression on his face.

"You can say it, I don't care."

He obviously did care, but that wasn't the point. Still, it was a good excuse for why Harry might not want to talk about it.

"Yes," Harry admitted. "Him and a few others."

"Is he the one who got your face?" Draco asked, his tone sounding only mildly curious as he dumped the dishes into the sink.

"No. Dolohov did." _And then I destroyed his legs_, his mind added, and he closed his eyes.

"I can see the idea of fighting back is new to you," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, what did you do?"

"Used a Reducto on him," Harry muttered. "If they can grow his legs back, he might be all right," he admitted, grudgingly.

Draco looked almost impressed. His eyes wandered away when he asked, "And my father?"

Harry shrugged. "I only Stunned him."

"Hmph. Who did Hermione's arm?"

"One of the Lestrange brothers. Don't know which, they were both there."

"You two were fighting all four of them?" Draco asked in shock.

"Yes."

"You're lucky you got out alive."

"I know."

"None of this is what's really bothering you, is it?"

"Go away, Draco. Seriously. Just . . . leave me alone."

Draco shrugged. "Fine. I'm going home. My mother is probably going to give me an earful about being late as it is."

"How is your mother?"

"Annoying as ever. Don't know why my aunt and uncle put up with her, I really don't."

Which was all blustering noise, of course. He was totally still a mama's boy. But Harry was impressed with the ways in which he'd changed. He'd shared a meal with werewolves and blood traitors, and he had been so nonchalant about finding out Harry had dueled with his father . . . maybe he was on the verge of puking the whole time and just good about not showing it. Either way, Harry felt sort of proud of him, as if he had any right to be so.

All of which was something two blokes just didn't say to each other, nor was it a good idea to explain that Harry planned to break into his family's ancestral home to commit robbery, so Harry just gave Draco a grim smile and a clap on the back.

"See you tomorrow, I expect."

Draco sighed, and looked weary again. "Yes, I have a lot of work to do."

"Why's that?"

"The werewolves severely depleted my stock, with all their injuries, and then you and Hermione . . . I'm nearly cleaned out."

"I'll help you tomorrow," Harry said.

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"I could use a day brewing Potions. Sounds relaxing."

"Fine. See you, then."

Harry followed Draco into the hallway, and so it was the two of them that heard the hesitant knocking at the door. They looked at one another gravely, drew their wands, and Harry stepped forward to fling the door open.

Bathed in the light from the hall candles, Kimberly Kearney slowly lowered her hand, which was still lifted in a fist to knock again. Colin Creevey had his arms draped over her shoulders, almost laying on her. Her other hand held her wand, and Colin was trying to hold his wand as well, though he barely had the strength to keep holding onto her and not slip to the ground.

Kimberly looked up at them with wide eyes in a ghostly pale face. "Harry," she blurted out. "Am I ever glad to see you."

"What happened?"

"What do you think?" she snapped. "Death Eaters attacked the Creevey's house, just like they've been attacking all the Muggleborn students."

"Get inside," Draco ordered roughly. Kimberly's mouth became grim when she saw him.

"What's he doing here?"

In answer, Harry grabbed her and hauled her through the door, taking Colin off her as she went by him. She pointed her wand at Draco.

"Oh, come off it," Draco growled. "You don't think Harry would have killed me by now if he'd meant to?"

Kimberly wasn't sure what to say to that, so she turned back to see Harry throw Colin over his shoulder and start trudging upstairs. Draco followed, talking all the while about what he had left in the lab. Kimberly stopped at the base of the stairs and eyed them as though they were the tallest mountain in the world, before she began to climb, both feet on each step and gripping the banister.

"Sirius, we've got company!" Harry bellowed over Draco's fretting and Kimberly's muttering.

Sirius popped out of the dining room and gave the tableau a startled look. "How did you two get here?" he demanded.

"Neville," Kimberly explained. "We went to Hogwarts first, but Neville didn't have any way to take care of our injuries, so he sent us here."

Since Ron had told Harry and Hermione about the state of things at Hogwarts, they weren't surprised. Sirius, well-connected as he was, seemed to understand as well.

"You couldn't sneak into the infirmary?" Draco asked.

"Neville said Madam Pomfrey is monitored all the time to be sure she isn't interfering with the Carrow's discipline. Anyone who's been subject to the Carrows goes to the Room of Requirement mostly just to get away for a while. Neville said the only supplies they have are what that old fellow in the pub can get them without being suspicious."

By now, they'd laid Colin out on the table. He had his eyes closed and he was covered in cold sweat.

"What happened to him?"

"Cruciatus," Draco answered for her. "Nothing to do for him but give him something for the pain and put him to bed. What about you?"

Kimberly shrugged. "I'm okay."

"Kim . . ." Colin whispered hoarsely, not even opening his eyes. "Please."

With embarrassment, she admitted that her pale colour came from blood loss, and she lifted her heavy cloak to expose the deep gouge on the back of her leg. Her dark jeans had kept hidden the fact that her leg was soaked in deep red. Harry lifted her gently onto the table by Colin's feet, and cut away the leg of her jeans. Hermione put a stool under Kimberly's foot.

"Were your parents there?" Harry asked Colin.

He shook his head. "Holiday," he muttered.

"Dennis?"

Colin turned his face away and uttered a heart-wrenching groan. Kimberly was beginning to tremble.

"I had to leave him there," she whispered. "He saved me, and I had to leave him. I had to carry Colin and there wasn't anything I could do for him." She broke down into sobs, burying her face in her hands. Hermione gathered Kimberly into her arms while Harry closed up the wound to her leg.

"Do we have any Blood-Replenishing Potion?" he asked Draco quietly.

Draco shook his head. "I gave the last of it to you, yesterday."

"Dreamless Sleep?"

"I have a little of that."

"Give it to both of them, and we'll put them in my room."

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"I'm not," Harry said grimly. "Sirius and I are going to the Creevey's house to get Dennis and to figure out how to get word to their parents." Then he turned back to Kimberly, who was still leaning on Hermione. "What were you doing there, anyway?"

Kimberly didn't even look up. "Didn't want to stay with my aunt. No reason for her to be in danger. And Colin and I . . ." She buried her head deeper into Hermione's embrace, but Colin had roused enough to reach his hand out for hers.

In answer, she pulled away from Hermione's arms and laid herself down beside Colin, though the table was barely large enough for two slender teenagers to lie atop it. They twined together and wept. Harry left them to it so he could join his godfather and his "other" godfather in retrieving the body of the thirteen-year-old boy who had sacrificed himself for his brother's girlfriend.

* * *

The next day, Draco arrived early, feeling exhausted before the work even began. But he found Harry already in the lab, efficiently setting up supplies.

"Where did you get all this? I thought I was going to have to have someone go out in diguise to pick all this up."

"Which I anticipated, and took upon myself to do," Harry said smugly.

"Have you been up all night?"

Harry shook his head. "In the end, we just called the police and left an anonymous tip that there was some kind of violence going on. Dennis' murder will never be solved by Muggle police, of course, but they were really fast about locating his parents and informing them. They'll be arriving later this morning, and Sirius is going to intercept them before they go into the police station."

"Oh. Well, that's good." Draco looked around at the things Harry had gathered in awe. "Isn't this quite a lot?"

"Ah, well, I was thinking."

"About what?"

"About Hogwarts, and how much they're trying to deal with. I want to brew enough so there's some stores laid by in the Room of Requirement. I think they need them just as badly as we do."

"It'll take two weeks to get that much done," Draco moaned.

"I'm here," Harry pointed out. "You can put up with me for a week, can't you?"

"I put up with _Simon_."

"Next to him, I'm a model lab partner."

Draco just muttered under his breath and began dragging cauldrons out of the cupboard.


	20. Chapter 20

**The Wise One**

Book Three: Being

Arc Three

* * *

_Inevitable Finale_

Hope and desire

Warring with truth

And reality

Wanting to revel in power

(Seductive and strange)

I won't live long enough

I made my choices

But I never knew

Choice is only faith

And praying for destiny

To forget my name

But destiny calls me

(Sweetly and softly)

And I cannot argue

When it begins to drown me

Yet I am resolved

Faith is a choice

I am stronger than this

Too stubborn to let go

I won't fade away

Into this inevitability

When fate looms daunting

I choose being

* * *

"I try to make it through my life  
In my way  
There's you  
I try to make it through these lies  
And that's all I do

Just don't deny it  
Don't try to fight this  
And deal with it  
That's just part of it

If you were dead or still alive,  
I don't care,  
I don't care,  
Just go and leave this all behind  
Cause I swear

(I swear)  
I don't care

I try to make you see my side  
Always try to stay in line  
But your eyes see right through  
That's all they do  
I'm getting buried in this place  
I've got no room, you're in my face  
Don't say anything

Just go away

If you were dead or still alive,  
I don't care,  
I don't care,  
Just go and leave this all behind

Cause I swear

(I swear)  
I don't care

I'm changing everything

You won't be there for me

I'm changing everything

You won't be there for me

If you were dead or still alive,  
I don't care,  
I don't care,  
Just go and leave this all behind  
Cause I swear

(I swear)  
I don't care

If you were dead or still alive  
I don't care  
(I don't care)  
I don't care

(I don't care)  
Just go and leave this all behind  
I don't care  
(Cause I swear)  
I don't care  
At all"

~ I Don't Care ~ Apocalyptica feat. Adam Gontier

* * *

"Forgive me, my love

I stand here all alone, and I can see the bottom"

~ "You ~ Breaking Benjamin ~

* * *

Chapter 20

"He's here," Hermione said briefly.

Draco and Harry had heard sounds in the hall downstairs, but they'd been too focused on their respective projects to pay attention. Now they set them aside, carefully noting the step they'd each arrived at, and came to the top of the stairs just in time to see Hermione gasp, "Oh, _Neville_!" and rush forward to hug the tall young man who stood there so awkwardly.

Harry slowly descended the stairs, leaving Draco at the top to take up the job of standing awkwardly. Neville was the only person not living in this house who knew of Draco's location—which had to be stressful, Harry reflected.

When he got to the bottom, he saw why Hermione had exclaimed so loudly. Neville looked awful. Harry remembered him as being sort of pudgy, but between June and November he'd become gaunt-looking. Not just thin, because his body carried the tired look of losing the weight too quickly. He was obviously running ragged, to judge by the deep circles under his eyes and the premature grooves carved beside his mouth and into his forehead. His nose had been broken at least once, and not set properly. He had the hesitant posture and movement of someone who had suffered from the Cruciatus Curse recently—which Harry knew only too well, having spent the past week helping to nurse Colin back to health. His eyes were the same, though—burning with a dark and private fire.

"Hermione, it's good to see you," he said with a smile that was not wide, but was genuine. "You look well."

Hermione's face was soft and sad. "Come on, Neville, come to the kitchen. I was just fixing lunch for the boys, you can eat with us."

"I should be going. I've got people covering for me, saying I've gone off somewhere to work on some homework in private . . ."

"You can work on it a little longer," Hermione said firmly, and led him by the arm. He followed with a hopeless look that Harry knew only too well. When you knew someone was right, but you didn't see how their way would help. Harry followed them to the kitchen.

"Hey, Neville," he said quietly.

"Hi, Harry," Neville replied, sinking down into a chair with a sigh.

"I would ask how you've been, but I can guess."

"It's that obvious?"

"That, and Ron told us quite a bit when we saw him."

"Oh, right," Neville recalled. "That feels like a long time ago," he sighed.

_It was a long time ago. Well over a month, now. Merciful Merlin, what have I been doing all this time? Just being with Hermione? And what has that done but make it that much harder to say— no. Not yet. Please, not yet._

_Yes. Soon._

"Tell me what's been happening," Harry said, as he walked over to the sink to fill the kettle. He didn't bother setting the kettle on the stove to boil, just rapidly cast warming charms until it was steaming and making a faint whistle.

Neville described the situation at the school. Detention was thinly veiled torture, and classes were nothing more than sermons on bigotry and cruelty. When the news had come out about the break-in at Gringotts, a boy was caught with the newspaper, and Terry Boot's attempt to rescue him from punishment had led to his being chained in the Great Hall with strips torn out of his back shaping out the words EXHIBIT A. Terry's fellow prefect Michael Corner had joined Neville and Ginny in setting Terry free, and Neville had claimed sole responsibility for it, placing Confundus Charms on the others so they wouldn't be able to contradict him. The staff had been forced to allow Madam Pomfrey to treat Terry, or he'd have ended up in St. Mungo's and the truth would get out. The truth wasn't getting out now, because no one and no correspondence passed the wards without inspection.

"You could get the truth out, the same way _you_ get out," Harry said, refilling Neville's tea, which he'd drunk without seeming to notice it was there.

Neville shook his head despondently. "Who'd dare to print it?"

"Xenophilius Lovegood," Harry snorted.

"And what would be done about it?"

There Harry fell silent. Nothing, he thought. Nothing would be done, except reprisals on Lovegood. Judging by what he heard from Sirius, people's ability to fight was fading by the day. Minister Bones had lost all her power, and the Death Eaters in the Ministry were gaining power every day. It wasn't just the Imperius Curse, that was the most disheartening thing. There were far too many who actually believed in Voldemort. And the parents of the students wouldn't help. The only ones being punished were the ones who opposed the new system. Some of them liked it. Some of them thought it was right. The school would shrink in size, but it would not close.

Was it right? he thought in despair. Was it right to fight against something that so many people believed in?

_I don't have to decide that_, he reminded himself. _It's not for me to decide. I may be fighting, but all I am concerned with is bringing a murderer to justice. I fight against Voldemort, and all other questions may be decided by discussion and not by violence. Reasonable people can talk about this stuff. Oh my god, am I a pacifist? Seriously?_

_"I find it does not interfere with the quality of my life if I do not allow it to."_ He smiled when he remembered what Dumbledore had said—only he was talking about being an optimist. Harry didn't think he was one of those anymore.

After Hermione had forced some food into Neville, Harry said, "Come upstairs," and led the way without looking back. He figured Neville would follow him out of curiosity, if nothing else, and then he wouldn't have to explain and be argued with.

Neville and Draco looked at one another with obvious guards up as Harry led him into the lab, but neither of them said a word.

"Sit," Harry said, and Neville sat. He had his eyebrows up and his mouth was set in a line that invited caution when dealing with him. He didn't like not knowing what Harry wanted.

Harry proceeded to briskly inspect him for injuries. He'd seen downstairs that several of Neville's fingers were taped together, and discovered that they were broken from having a door "accidentally" slammed on his hand. He'd set them himself as best he could, but he was completing lacking in medicine to treat it. They were fixable, but his nose was too healed-over to do anything about. He had some lacerations across his chest. Harry gave him a dose of homemade Skele-Gro and the variant of skin growth potion that he'd learned from Sacha and still considered superior. Most of Neville's pain was coming from repeated bouts with the Cruciatus Curse, the only real cure for which was painkillers and sleep. He knew he wouldn't be able to get Neville to sleep, so he dosed him with painkillers and hoped that simply being out of danger for an hour and eating something would help him recover. Not likely, that. Colin was only now getting back to full strength, and he'd been doing nothing but sleeping—well, sleeping and snogging Kimberly, but they all pretended not to know about that.

"Come on, Harry, this is a waste of time," Neville said, his discomfort clear from his hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. "I'm fine. It's the other students who need help."

"That's bollocks, Oh Great and Fearless Leader. If you keep going like this, you're not going to make it. Who went and made you the whipping boy, anyway?"

"I did," Neville said shortly.

"All right," Harry said quietly. "Just . . . take care of yourself, okay? We can't afford to lose you. I might even miss you. It's been nice, sharing the Chosen One duties."

Neville found enough humour left in himself to smirk at that. He noticed Draco was smirking as well, although probably because he was thinking of some clever way to humiliate him. Neville took a deep breath, then let it out.

"Thank you for your help, Draco. These potions are going to make a huge difference, for us."

Stunned, Draco just turned around and began a final check of what they'd been calling "The Care Package." Blood replenishers, Skele-Gro, painkillers, sleeping aids, anti-infection treatments, bruise cream, bandages, and tape. They had not made the bandages or tape, but they'd brewed up everything else. For some reason, bulk ingredients roused less suspicion than complete potions, maybe simply because they'd been acquired at multiple locations. Hermione had added a few things, too— some books that had been banned from Hogwarts, the most recent newspapers, and a huge batch of rock-hard cookies to which one could apply the phrase "it's the thought that counts."

It was all in cardboard boxes, and Sirius had volunteered to help Neville transport it back to the school. He was anxious to check on his former students. He and Simon had put in some time in the lab this week, although they all deferred to Draco as the boss. They'd needed to restock the Order's supplies as well as creating the Care Package, and Draco had become extremely efficient over the past six months.

When Sirius and Neville left, with a round of "good luck" and "thank you" from everyone, and Draco followed them to the front door with anxious instructions about proper storage, Hermione glided into the laboratory and into Harry's arms.

"I'm worried," she said frankly, laying her head against him.

"About what?" he asked, putting his arms around her because she would think it was weird if he didn't.

"About everything knowing we're here again."

"Neville won't tell anyone."

"I know. But everyone will know that he knows where we are. It could be really bad for him."

"The only people who will know are the people he trusts enough to let into the Room of Requirement. I think our tactic worked, for the most part, nobody has been watching the street this week. We could leave again, but . . . it's going to be over soon. Then it won't matter."

"You really think so?" she asked, raising her face to look at him.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Once we figure out how to get the Ravenclaw diadem, it'll be a matter of hours before we can finish it."

"But Harry . . ."

"What, love?"

"I'm so afraid of how we're going to get the diadem," she whispered, her eyes flooding with tears. "You act like you're just going to walk up to Riddle and ask him about it."

"Well, I'm going to search the manor first, of course. Actually revealing myself to Riddle is pretty low on my list of possible methods."

"But then what?"

"I absolutely _will not_ die without getting the information to you, that's what. I trust you to carry on if I can't. You know what to do, don't you?"

"The snake, then Riddle himself. I know, Harry. But I don't want to do it without you. I don't want to do anything without you."

He nuzzled his face in her hair. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"What bridge?" Draco asked as he walked back in.

Harry looked up, and there was a gleam in his eyes. "Draco, I could use your help."

Draco cast a pointed look over the lab.

"I know, I know. I want you to draw me a map of your house."

"A map?"

"And point out to me the most likely hiding places for a seriously Dark object."

Draco blinked several times, his face comically surprised. "Are you actually planning to break into the Manor and thieve something? Despite the fact that my home currently contains the Dark Lord, my father, and a host of very nasty people?"

"I'd be doing my best to avoid confrontation with the nasty people, you see. Hence why a map would come in handy."

Draco looked frozen there, a deer in the headlights. He seemed to have vacated his own body for a moment, his eyes were so far away. Then his breath came whooshing out of him, reanimating him. "No."

"What? No? Just like that?"

Draco's jaw became rigid, and he took on that stony, stubborn look he could get. "I've already gone as far as I can go with this. I can't just knowingly betray him. I will sit here and laugh about a teenager hitting him with a Stunner, but I can't just give my entire heritage over to you. No."

He pivoted on his heel and marched from the room. At the door, without even turning around, he said, "Finish the Dreamless Sleep, would you? I'm on the seventh step."

When he was gone, Harry made a face at Hermione. "Sorry. I was hoping that would go better."

She was glaring at him.

"What?"

"You might have said something to me, at some point, about how you were going to ask him that. I would have been softening him up all week if I'd known."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Harry, what is going on with you?" she snapped. "You've been pulling away from me the whole time we've been here. I have to come find you if I want anything, and it used to be that you were never happier than just being with me. I don't know what's got into you! I know the fight we had in the graveyard was rough on you, but it's more than that. I don't like being lied to, Harry Potter."

"I'm not lying to you."

"You're keeping things from me."

He had nothing to say to that.

"Oh, Harry . . . why would you? Why can't you just tell me, whatever it is?"

He pushed her away. "Because I'm not ready to admit that I need to say anything, yet." With that, he left the lab. Head reeling and heart cracking, he went to check on Colin, who was on the third floor with the werewolves. He was alone, for the moment, which meant he'd been crying and had kicked Kimberly out so she wouldn't see it.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

Colin shrugged, then held out his hands, which were impressively steady. "Better," he said simply.

His eyes were red, which was how Harry could tell he'd been crying. The first few days, it had been because the torture had ruptured a lot of blood vessels, but that had healed up. The pain of his brother's death wasn't so easy to fix. Losing Dennis wasn't something that _could_ be fixed, not with magic or anything else. Harry had briefly considered the ring he had in his possession, but why would he torture Colin with nothing but a shadow of his brother? It would look like him, sound like him, but you couldn't touch it and you couldn't love it. It wasn't even a cheap replacement, more like a punishment. Harry didn't know the true origin of the ring, but the story told about it made Death sound like a cruel bastard who wanted to torment some poor grief-stricken fool. He had never once been tempted by it, and he had never understood why Dumbledore had been, tragic family history notwithstanding.

"I'm glad," Harry said, trying to smile at him. It was tough to smile when it was his fault that all this was happening. He should have finished this task weeks ago. There had been nothing stopping him but his impossible need to grow close to Hermione, to try to squeeze a lifetime of love into a few short months . . . But that was such a selfish need of his, because when this was all over, she'd regret it and she'd hate him, and it wouldn't be worth anything. And now that need had taken Dennis Creevey, too. Harry felt quite certain that he had hit rock bottom, emotionally.

All this was in his mind and his heart, but it was private. All he said to Colin was, "Maybe you can come downstairs and eat at the table with us today."

Colin nodded agreeably. "I want to. Kimberly's been helping me walk around the room since yesterday."

"How's that going?"

"Good. My legs seem to be back to normal. If I can manage the stairs, I think I'm ready to leave."

Harry nodded. "Your parents will be glad."

Colin's face twisted. "You think I'm stupid enough to put them back in danger? I'm not going home."

"What? Where are you going?"

"To Hogwarts. Kim and I both, we're going to hide out in the Room of Requirement. I guess there's a lot of students who are having to hide almost full-time now, it's not just Dean and Seamus. Two more will hardly make a difference."

"Who's hiding?"

"Some of the younger students who are starting to get permanent damage from the punishments, because they haven't learned how to shield any of it. And I know that Ernie Macmillan and Ginny Weasley both had to move in there full-time, and Terry Boot might have to join them because ever since he got his back done he hasn't been able to keep his mouth shut . . . Harry?"

"What?"

"You're awfully pale."

"Am I?" Harry asked dully. "Maybe it's hearing about the horrible things a bunch of kids are going through."

"It's not like we're the only ones. All the adults have to deal with it, too."

Harry shook his head.

"Well, it's the way it is, right? I mean, there's a war on, and we're going to deal with pain and everything unless we're willing to roll over and let You-Know-Who win, which I'm not—"

"Riddle," Harry said harshly.

"Huh?"

"His name is Tom Riddle. It's not Lord anything, because he isn't a bloody lord, and Voldemort is just some stupid name he concocted for himself. He's a half-Muggle with a chip on his shoulder, and his name is Tom Riddle. You lost your brother because of him, and you deserve to call him by name."

Harry stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To finish this," Harry whispered, knowing Colin didn't hear him. Not for another minute, not for one more _single ghastly blood-soaked minute_ would this go on, it was time, he had to find Hermione and he had to force Draco to give up the information—

There was a sort of a strange noise from the closed door of the Lupin bedroom that sounded like someone was being strangled with the thing they loved most in the world, a sort of cross between a bellow and a gasp.

"Dora!"

"Merlin's shirt, it's happening!" Tonks cried out.

Harry froze, eyes wide. _What_ was happening? Not _that _. . .

Remus barreled out of the bedroom and straight into Harry, sending them both flying into the wall. Harry put out an arm to catch himself against the wall and the other arm grabbed around Remus to keep him from falling over. It was a near thing, and he ended up having the wind knocked out of him.

"It's the baby," Remus said, staring at Harry with wild eyes. "She's in labour. Where's Addison?"

"At work."

"I have to get her. Addison has to help!" he yelped, and went careening down the stairs with small panicked noises.

Yes. That.

Harry peeked into the room, already cringing in case Tonks threw something at him. He'd heard that pregnant ladies were sort of unreasonable, especially when they started feeling like someone was trying to reach through their spinal cord to tear them in half from the front.

But Tonks was calmly spreading a dark gray sheet over a wooden rocking chair and sitting down in it. She saw Harry and smiled. It was a distracted smile. "Hi."

"Hi, Tonks, I'm just, I mean I was just looking in on Colin and I heard, and then Remus came out, and I didn't know if you were okay, but I'll just leave and—"

"Harry, dear, do shut up."

He did.

"I only just started, and it'll be hours before anything exciting happens. I expect Remus went to get Addison?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"Then come on in here and keep me company," she said serenely. "I could use a foot-rub, if you've nothing better to do."

Harry had several things that really ought to take priority, but the fact that within a matter of hours, a baby was going to come from this woman's body and there would be a living and breathing infant in this house that had not been there yesterday had him sort of lost. An entire person that had been produced from the love shared by Remus and Tonks was a strange thing to contemplate. So Harry found himself kneeling down on the floor and putting her bare, swollen foot in his lap. He was feeling a great deal of awe for the woman in front of him, making his movements gentle and slow. Knowing she was pregnant was different from knowing she was in labour.

Hermione appeared in the doorway. "We saw Remus go tearing off shouting something about killing Addison for going to work today. Sirius was afraid to come up here."

Tonks gave Hermione the serene smile she seemed to have perfected recently. "As you can see, we're doing all right up here. My water only broke a few minutes ago."

"Are you going to deliver the baby here?"

Tonks nodded. "No sense risking lives by going to the hospital. Addison will know if anything goes wrong enough to move me there."

"Do you need anything?"

"Harry is doing a lovely job, but thank you." Noticing how antsy Hermione was, Tonks used her wand to bring the small chair from her vanity over beside her. "I could always use more company, though. Why don't you sit down and tell me what you've been studying today?"

When Remus arrived with Addison, looking thoroughly not-put-together, he was halted in the doorway by the sight of the three of them. Dora was resting with her hands on her womb, occasionally grimacing and shifting uncomfortably, but perfectly calm. Her face had sort of drawn in, like she was listening to music that no one else could hear. Hermione sat at her side, chattering with animation about some obscure branch of Arithmancy and obviously not caring that Dora wasn't paying attention except in the strictest sense of not interrupting. Harry knelt at his wife's feet, rubbing them with singular focus and several glances of adoration cast in Hermione's direction for her brilliance.

Addison pulled him back out of the room. She could see that the two teenagers were keeping her friend calm, which was exactly what she needed at this stage. It was not the first time she'd seen a woman having her first child somehow understand and organize her surroundings into the exactly proper shape. It wasn't even magic, unless one was inclined to believe that the deepest underpinnings of instinct and harmony between mother and child were magic. She had some sympathy for that opinion.

"Come, Remus, I think what Dora could really use right now is a cup of tea. Why don't you fix one up for her? And something to eat, she's going to need all the strength she can get . . ." Softly convincing and tugging on his arm, she led him away, knowing she wouldn't be able to keep him that way for long and determined to give Dora as long as she could. Once the father was on the scene, with all his inability to grasp what was happening inside the mother's body, stress levels went off the charts.

But he broke away from her in the middle of the staircase and started rushing down ahead of her. "I've got to get her mother! Andromeda will kill me if I don't get her now!"

When Kimberly and Colin discovered what was happening, they quickly packed their few belongings and fled. They'd been warmly welcomed as houseguests, but this was definitely a family thing. But still, even while they were traversing the creepy passageway into the school from the Hog's Head, there was a warm glow occupying something in their middles. Life went on. Somehow, against all odds, it went on.

* * *

Harry had always shown an impenetrable strength before the eyes of the world. Hermione and Sirius knew his weaknesses, his foibles, but even they rarely saw him overcome by them. He was a strong person, and he was well-practiced at hiding his moments of weakness. It had always been easiest for him to ignore the clamor in his head when someone he cared about needed him. He had become very used to maintaining his composure while everyone else was falling apart around him.

Hermione, who had known fear so intimately and had come through it by such a long process, was better at understanding when people were afraid or upset, and had more patience for it. She had become strong, and she deeply appreciated the fact that she had come far enough to use that strength to help someone else find their own.

Therefore, it was Harry who assisted Addison and Andromeda with Tonks, while Hermione and Ted kept Remus occupied. Neil, Jeremy, and Sirius had done their best to convince Remus to leave the house with them for a little while, but he was having none of it. Tonks had started screaming insults at him the last time he'd gone in to see her, and he couldn't leave when he thought she was angry with him.

Sirius had reminded him that when Harry was born, they had forcibly removed Lily's wand so she couldn't harm James, and that she had told James quite emphatically that she hated him, which was a bit better than what Tonks had said.

"But it _is_ my fault," Remus said, looking ill and pale and clammy. "I _did_ do that to her. And it's going to be . . . our child will be . . . I don't even _know_ what our child will be!" he shouted, covering his face with his hands. "I say I love her, but if I really did, I would have left her alone!"

That was when Hermione took over. She put a cup of tea into his hands (without telling him it contained a generous dose of whisky), put her hand over his, and said, quite firmly,

"You know very well that isn't true."

He looked up at her with surprise.

"Your child will be loved, is what it will be. Loved by parents who love each other, and that is a very good thing. I know you're worried that it will be a werewolf, and I know that Sirius is about to tell you that's stupid," she said with warning in her voice and a quick sharp glance at the other man, "but I understand. Worry isn't always logical. But if you're worried about what a child needs, you just ask Harry. He was part of a perfectly normal family who could provide him with complete stability, and he won't even talk about them because he hated it so much. Then he went into hiding with a runaway criminal and suddenly received everything that had been missing from his life. Nothing else matters, but that your child knows exactly where to go no matter what happens in life. If your child can go to you, and be loved, then you'll have done everything you should do."

Remus went still, his head down, and it looked like Hermione was taming a wild animal with her soothing words.

"She said it was my fault," he mumbled.

Hermione giggled, and he looked up at her.

"Well, you'd say a lot of things if you were in that much pain, wouldn't you?"

There was a horrible yelling upstairs, and they all winced.

"I remember when Dora was born," Ted said faintly. "Glad I'm not up there." He shot a look at Sirius. "Your boy is daft, is what he is."

* * *

"Now, dear, that's it, just lay back," Andromeda encouraged her daughter.

"You're doing _wonderfully_," Addison said, sending a warm smile at Tonks from between her upraised knees. There was a sheet draped over her legs, and Harry was very pointedly _not on that side of the room_. He was smoothing her sweaty hair away from her sweaty face.

"I hate all of you," Tonks panted.

"My eardrums return the sentiment," Harry smirked at her.

She grimaced. "Sorry, but it bloody _hurts_."

"So you've been saying, and I'm rather inclined to believe you." Harry had given up on holding her hand after she'd squeezed all the feeling from his fingers. "I've already dosed you as much as I'm going to, though, so we'll all just have to bear up."

"_We_?" she snarled. "I don't see _you_ going through labour."

Harry looked down at his throbbing hand, the feeling that was returning to it decidedly unpleasant. "No, but I think you've dislocated my pinky."

"I have?" she asked with interest, momentarily distracted.

He held up his hand with the crookedly jutting finger. "Yep."

"Harry, come here and let me see that," Andromeda demanded.

Harry just shrugged. He took a deep, hearty breath and held it while he gripped his pinky with the opposite hand and jerked it back into place. He blew out his breath and smiled at her.

"There. Problem solved."

"I've broken a couple of my fingers," Tonks said, her voice full of marvel. "And it hurts like blazes."

"Yeah?"

"So why aren't you screaming?"

Harry shrugged again. "I fixed it."

"You are a weird cookie," Tonks said frankly, and laid her head back. "But you're a good diversion, anyway. Remind me why you're in here and my husband isn't?"

Addison and Andromeda rolled their eyes at one another.

"Because your husband is freaking out and you keep throwing things at him, mostly," Harry answered.

"You're next," she said with narrow eyes.

Harry grinned. "You just saw that I'm impervious to pain. I'm also immune to freaking out. You're stuck with me."

Tonks began to pant and tense up and her teeth gritted. Harry didn't know how she was still dealing with every single contraction with this tenacity, because he would have lost his mind by now. He just blotted the sweat from her face with a washcloth and tucked the loose strings of hair back and waited until it was over. When she fell back again, with another word of encouragement from the women, he handed her the cup full of ice chips he'd made earlier.

"You're such a good kid," Tonks muttered. "I can't imagine how that happened, because I know better than to think Sirius had anything to do with it."

"Hear, hear," Andromeda joked.

Harry's smile turned a bit shy at that. "He really did, actually. I don't think I would have ended up with nearly as much compassion if he'd left me with the Dursleys."

"I never really heard anything about that," Tonks said, looking up at him curiously. "I guess I always thought that Sirius took you because prison made him a little crazy." Andromeda snorted something, but Tonks ignored her. "What do you mean, you wouldn't have any compassion?"

Harry looked away, uncomfortable. "Well, yeah, it was a long time before he was really okay after Azkaban, but . . . I needed to be taken away. The Dursleys weren't very good to me. I always had to look out for myself, and it was just . . . I was learning that everyone is alone in the world, so you have to look out for yourself, and other people are only there to make you suffer. I honestly didn't know that there was such a thing as caring about someone else more than you cared about yourself. And I honestly didn't know that it wasn't normal to starve me or lock me up if I did something wrong. And I didn't know that so many things weren't as wrong as the Dursleys made out they were . . ."

"Oh, Harry," Tonks said, gripping his hand in a much different way. "I had no idea."

"No one had any idea," Harry said. "Except Sirius, and he put an end to it. And he took me away and gave me a home where I was allowed to be myself. I found out that it was normal for me to have a bedroom to sleep in, and food to eat every day, and clothes that fit. If I felt bad for stray dogs, that was okay. And if I liked to study the stars, that was okay, too. If I burned the toast, Sirius hugged me and made some new toast and let me eat it, and that was actually the hardest thing to get used to. Not hugging, even though that was weird, but just the fact that I was allowed to screw up sometimes. He wasn't going to scream at me and call me a freak and put me in a cupboard for two days. Not even the time I melted half the kitchen and probably deserved it. He just . . . loved me. And that made it okay for me to love him back. I had never loved anything before, and I sort of got hooked on it."

The women all looked like they were crying or about to be, and Harry was feeling beyond uncomfortable. He hadn't meant to say so much, but being here in this room was weird. The world was out there, beyond the closed door, and everything that happened in here stayed in here, out of sight of prying eyes. It probably wasn't even appropriate for him to_ be_ here, but it felt somehow right to bare something so private to Tonks when she was laying here in incredible pain with no pants on, while two women talked about her dilation.

"Anyway . . . that's how I know that you and Remus are going to be such great parents. Can't see you smacking a kid around just for accidentally shrinking a jumper. In fact, when I think of your kid in trouble, I just see Remus sitting him down and talking his ear off about right and wrong until he's begging for daddy to just let mummy smack him so it can all be over with . . ."

Tonks laughed, but it got lost in a scream. Harry winced but stayed with her. His being here was helping her, somehow, so he'd stay.

* * *

Hermione kept up a steady stream of clean linens and hot water, and she ran to the lab for potion when Andromeda thought Tonks could have more. After a while, Harry fell silent, just holding her hand, while Andromeda sang a few old lullabies from Tonks' childhood. Tonks had dozed a little between contractions for a while, but then they started coming closer together, and they realized it was nearly time. The men had all professed to be unable to sleep, but they'd dosed Remus with whiskey again and they all ended up snoring on various pieces of furniture in the parlour. Simon had been helping Hermione work, but he was too distracted by imagining the situation upstairs and spent most of the time pacing, so he had been banished to the sparring room to work out his tension.

After one earth-shattering groan, Addison looked at Harry and said, "Get Remus."

Harry jumped to his feet and ran. He honestly didn't remember taking the stairs, and wondered if he had somehow flown down. Light on his feet, he went to Remus' side and woke him with a shushing so he wouldn't wake the other men, and yanked him out of the room. Simon and Hermione dashed up the stairs with him, right at Remus' heels, but Addison came to the door and barred the way.

"Just Remus," she said briefly, and shut the door.

The three of them trooped back downstairs. Harry noticed how pinched Simon's face was.

"Why don't you go to bed?" he suggested. "It could still be a while, I think. Get a few hours of sleep and it'll all be over when you wake up?"

Simon said a rude word.

Harry put his arm over Simon's shoulders. "I know, mate, I didn't think you would. Who could sleep when their mum's about to give birth?"

"It sounds horrible," Simon muttered. "I don't know why anyone wants to have babies."

Harry shot Hermione a triumphant grin.

"What? Hey! She's not my mum!"

"You sure?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Anyway, let's just go down to the kitchen and make something to eat."

"Ooo, good idea," Hermione said fervently. "I'm dying."

_No, you're not, I am_. The sheer flippancy of Harry's internal monologue made his stomach turn. After the surreal experience of sitting with Tonks all afternoon and evening and into the night, he'd almost forgotten. When her water broke, he'd been literally on his way to confront Riddle. At this point, it would have to wait for tomorrow. But no longer than that. It was time for it to be done.

* * *

Harry sat so still that he almost didn't breathe.

"If you don't relax, he'll cry," Remus said.

Harry stared down at the wrinkled red face and felt feelings he had no name for. The crossed blue eyes were almost looking back at him, but he'd been informed that the baby couldn't really see yet. The tiny, perfect fist, red-skinned but tipped with miraculous and white little fingernails, was waving in his direction. Moving so slowly it looked like he'd been cursed, Harry moved his own hand to intercept. The tiny little fist closed over his thumb.

Harry struggled not to break down into weeping. Teddy Evan Lupin was the most heartbreaking thing he'd ever seen. He had learned, as he'd told Tonks last night, a lot about love. But he was only now learning that it was possible to love someone instantly and completely. Any parent could have told him it was true, but he'd never known to ask. Today, he understood. The newly arrived person in his arms had his heart, without doing a thing to earn it except existing.

"I still think you should have _actually_ let us name him after you," Tonks whispered, her voice a bit hoarse.

Harry looked up and she smiled at the entranced expression he wore. Remus and Simon had already taken a few turns at holding him, and they'd both looked that way—sort of gobsmacked, but in a good way.

"My name is boring," he said. "Nothing against my parents, you understand. But you try being six and being called Harry."

"Well, he's _called_ Teddy, but I see your point. Always liked the name Evan, anyway."

Harry would have replied, but his attention was focused entirely on Teddy. His hair was rapidly changing colour, become an angry shade of red.

"Uh-oh," Remus muttered, delicately scooping the baby out of Harry's arms and handing him off to Tonks. "He's hungry."

Harry averted his eyes.

"I'll, uh, I'm a little hungry myself, actually," he muttered, and hurriedly vacated the room. It was now nine o'clock in the morning. Teddy had been born at 1:49 am, and Harry had gone to bed at two, only to rise again at six to cook breakfast for everyone. He'd operated on less sleep before, so he wasn't as tired as he had a right to be. He was just feeling overwhelmed.

Remus caught him in the hallway. "Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Dora told me how you talked to her, kept her calm and tried to make her comfortable. I wish I could have done it myself, but you saw what a wreck I was. It was better to have somebody in there who wasn't having fits. So thank you for doing that."

Harry smiled. "You haven't even tapped into what I'd do for your family."

Remus shook his head and pulled Harry into an embrace. "Merlin, Harry, you _are_ family. In fact, we'd like to make it a little more official."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, stepping back.

"Dora and I were wondering what you would think of being Teddy's godfather."

"What?"

Remus put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "We both think you're pretty well-qualified, especially after you talked to Dora last night. You know better than most people what makes a good godfather, and I saw your face when you were holding Teddy. You already love him."

Harry shrugged. "Who wouldn't? But Remus . . . I can't."

His smile fell, but his hand tightened. "You can't?"

He'd thought he'd found rock bottom when talking to Colin, but this was the real bottom. Harry wished he had the strength to hold his secrets, to simply hurt their feelings and walk away . . . but he didn't. He could live with the idea that Remus and Tonks would resent him, but he couldn't deal with the idea that Teddy would grow up thinking ill of him. Because his rekindled resolve to finish his job was all about that little boy, was all in the name of giving him a safe world to live in, a good world that didn't have all this blood status crap and all this death . . .

"I'm sorry, Remus," Harry whispered. "I just don't think I'm going to be around to do it."

"What are you talking about, Harry?"

"I'm talking about maybe not living through this war."

"You can't possibly mean that. You've always said you have no intention of dying . . ."

"I know what I've said," Harry said with a bleak smile that chilled Remus to the core. "It's scary that the one lie I've ever told so blatantly was such a good one, isn't it?"

"Harry—"

"Please don't say anything, Remus. Please. I'm not entirely certain of anything, okay? And it'll still be a day or two before I'm ready, so I want the chance to say goodbye to everyone."

"_A day or two_?" Remus gasped.

"I have some things I have to go figure out," Harry said. "Some things to prepare. But I'll be back to say goodbye, and even then I sort of hope it's not really goodbye. But just in case I'm don't come back . . . your son is the most beautiful thing I've seen, outside my girlfriend's smile, and I am honoured by your faith in me. Thank you."

He left Remus gaping there in the hall outside the bedroom, and went downstairs. It wasn't quite possible yet for him to internalize all his feelings. He just went to his bedroom and lay down to stare at the ceiling, letting things pass over him in waves. He was thinking about love. Many different kinds of love, all of them tinged with regret. Love for Sirius, with the grief of never being honest about the end of this war and knowing how hard it would hit him when it came. Love for Hermione, and wishing there was time for an absolutely mind-blowing shag first but also guilt for even getting so close to her when it could only end badly. Love for that tiny little person upstairs with the most bitter longing that he could be what Remus and Tonks wanted him to be. And love for them, too, for the way they'd accepted him even though they didn't have to, and terrible regret that the next big family dinner wouldn't include him.

But coursing through all that was a much different kind of love. It was more like respect, and conviction, but it turned into love when he tried to direct it toward a specific person. And it was for everyone. Everyone who deserved to go to school or work in safety. Everyone who deserved to wake up and to go to bed without worrying if someone was coming to find them and hurt them. Everyone who deserved to have opinions and talents and the ability to practice them without fearing a midnight visit of reprisal. Everyone who deserved to live, instead of just survive.

Was it a fair trade, what he had for what he wanted them to have? He had so much here, with all this family and all this potential, and all the things he wanted to do. To be. He wanted to _be_, and only be himself with nothing riding in his mind or the scar on his forehead. How could he give that up? But he thought about Mona who loved her son more than anything in the world, and Sacha who knew the Dark Arts but didn't practice them, and Catalina out there somewhere with a target still painted on her back simply for making Sirius fall in love with her. And his friends, Ron and Ginny, who deserved to make it through the day without being called blood traitors. And Neville, who ought to be released from that terrible bondage he'd put himself under. And Hermione, who was the biggest target of all and who could never have a real life until this war was won. For them, he could give it up. For them, he'd do anything. And he'd do it for the people whose names he had never known, whose faces he barely remembered, because despite knowing he had enormous potential, he hadn't yet grown so big as to think his life was worth more than theirs.

So he would destroy the Horcruxes. He would take Riddle's power. He would deliver the world from a monster and give them a man whom they could judge and condemn and punish. They deserved it, and there was no use left in wishing someone else could do the delivering. He was done with that.

He should be feeling resigned, feeling loss, or determination. But he wasn't. He was laying there fighting feelings of glee. His head hurt and his stomach was turning victorious little somersaults and he saw for a moment, superimposed on his ceiling, the hand of a tall, thick-chested blond man reaching out to shake his.

He was so very tired of having Riddle sharing with him. He was almost ready to give it all up just to get rid of that. As he focused his energy on dispelling the leftovers of another person's joy in his head, he began to feel despair. Riddle had just gained followers abroad. If Harry didn't do it now, it would be too late.

* * *

Hermione was upset with him, but Harry didn't know why, and she wasn't saying. He used Legilimency, too impatient to coax it out of her. Turned out she was upset that they were doing this at all, since Draco had a valid reason to refuse to help, and she was also upset that they were doing it right now, when Teddy wasn't even a full day old yet.

She spun around and shot him a glare. "Were just in my head?"

Harry didn't know what to say.

"I swear, Harry, I don't know what is wrong with you right now. First you're keeping things from me, then when I want to do the same thing, you just barge on in and take it anyway!"

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Oh, are you? How many times have you done that? Just gone digging in my brain if I don't feel like talking? Did you consider the fact that sometimes my feelings aren't logical and I don't want to share them because I'm hoping they go away? Or did you consider respecting my privacy at all? We've always been really honest with each other, and we've also been really honest about when we need some space. Haven't we?"

"Yes."

"We built everything we have on honesty and trust. Our relationship has always been about trust, hasn't it?"  
"Yes."

"So," she whispered, her eyes full of tears, "can you tell me why you're so intent on destroying that relationship now, when I need it most?"

Harry's heart, already at the breaking point, tore in half. He could swear he felt the blood pumping his life away, all over the floor. What was he doing? He was ruining everything for Hermione, and it wasn't even time yet.

No. Really, what was he _doing_? Did the fact that he was approaching the end somehow make it okay for him to just reach into her mind? What was he turning into, while he was so busy regretting things? Every time he thought he'd reached absolute bottom, he found some way to sink lower.

"Harry . . ." Hermione stood there like there was a huge crack in the floor that separated them. Like the scant few feet between them might as well be an entire continent. "You've got so much pain and sadness inside you right now that I can feel it from here. I want to help you, but I can't if you won't tell me what's wrong. You've been acting so strangely since we came back to London, and you've got guilt plaguing your every step. I don't understand. I want to, but I can't unless you let me back in. I thought you wanted me to know everything about you, but you're not acting that way anymore. What happened?"

"I figured out that not everything about me is worth knowing," he answered, and then he led the way to the Tonks' house, with Hermione trailing behind him in shock and hurt. Draco was there by himself, feeling like he'd be intruding by coming over to work today. And Harry was going to press him for answers again. Because there was no time left. Not for him. He wouldn't let Teddy live one day in this world, not when he had the power to make a new one.

Draco was seated in the living room in front of the fire, which was not burning very well, probably because Kreacher was at Grimmauld Place helping out. The flicker played over the well-worn carpet, but most of the light came from the windows. Harry briefly reflected that the earth-toned furniture and drapes worked well with the natural light, but now was hardly the time for discussions of home décor. Narcissa was not in sight, for which Harry thanked his lucky stars. Draco had a book open in his lap and was eating a piece of toast, which he dropped onto the book so he could grab his wand from the table. Then he realized it was just them, and looked down at his book.

"Oh, bugger!" he muttered, throwing the toast into the fire and using the sleeve of his robe to rub at the page. "Shouldn't you be celebrating a birth right now?" he asked them.

"Says the baby's bloody cousin," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Draco looked almost scared at that, and quickly reverted the topic. "What are you doing here?"

"Where's your mother?"

Draco gripped his wand and concentrated for a moment, then shrugged. "Asleep."

"Good. I need to ask you something."

"What?"

"The same thing I asked you yesterday."

Draco paused to think, then he stood up so he could face Harry more evenly. "I said no."

"Which I am not accepting," Harry replied.

Before it could move into an argument, or worse yet, a duel, Hermione stepped in. "Draco, I'm sorry that Harry's being so harsh, but there is something we need really desperately, and we're trying our best to locate it. Is there any way you can help us?"

Draco looked back and forth at the two of them, from Harry's hard expression to Hermione's pleading one. "This is something really big."

"This is . . ." Harry blew out a breath. "This is _it_. This is the last piece of the puzzle. I find this thing, and it's over. I find this thing, I play my cards right, and we win."

_Yes, we_, he was thinking, _because as much as you would rather not think about it or admit it, we're on the same side now. You didn't want to be, and you hate being here, but it's only because your father taught you to hate the part of yourself that has convictions that can't be bought or sold. I know you'll be glad when we win, even if you won't let anyone see it._

He didn't cast an Imperius charm on Draco. There had to be a line he wouldn't cross. There _had_ to be, or he would never be sure he even deserved to win. He'd gone too far already. Much too far. If Draco wouldn't help willingly, then he would have to accept it, his gruff words aside.

"Tell me what you're looking for," Draco said finally. "Maybe I've seen it."

"It's a diadem," Harry said.

"A diadem?"

"You know, like a tiara," Hermione supplied.

Draco shot her a look. "I know what it is. Forgive me for being a little stunned that the fate of the world rests on a piece of outdated jewelry."

"Well?" Harry said.

"Well, for Merlin's sake, my mother has about six kinds of outdated jewelry passed down through the family. Can you give me a better description?"

"It wouldn't be kept with your mother's jewelry, for one thing. It's not meant to be worn. In fact, there's sort of a rumour that it might have once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw."

Draco made a disgusted face. "And you think my parents would keep such a thing in their home? Who do you think we are?"

"They'd do it if the 'dark lord' asked them to, wouldn't they? Are you telling me you haven't seen anything like that?"

"There are parts of my house I've never even been allowed into," Draco said stiffly. He was keeping his dignity a lot better than Harry was, and Harry tried really hard to rein himself in. He absolutely shouldn't make a remark on the kind of house Draco had grown up in. "If you don't have a better description . . ."

"We don't have any description, do we?" Hermione asked, giving Harry a stricken look. "We don't know what it looks like."

"I'll know it when I see," Harry said with conviction. "I feel them."

Hermione knew this, and shuddered, but Draco just looked lost.

"Feel who?"

"Never mind. We need to make another visit, but we'll be back. We'll go get a better description."

"You do that," Draco said, looking faintly amused now.

"Draco?" Harry took a step forward, until their faces were nearly touching. "Not a word. To. Anyone."

He nodded, backing away and licking his lips.

Harry took Hermione's hand. "Hang on."

"Where are we going?"

He took them to Hogsmeade.

"Harry, what are we doing here?" Hermione asked, mystified. "And can we please _slow down_?"

"No, we can't," he answered. He ducked into the Hog's Head, dragging her behind him. "And we're getting into Hogwarts, of course." He tried not to remember the last time he was here, when he'd been disguised as the Death Eater Markowicz. But his neck itched with the memory.

"We're going to see Professor Flitwick, aren't we? He'd know the most about the diadem."

"No. It's too much risk that we'd be seen by the other professors, and then we'd really be in it. We're going to ask Luna Lovegood."

"Oh," Hermione said weakly. Harry hoped they'd gotten well beyond the jealousy that had fueled that old rivalry. Luna was just Luna, and she was the only person he could think of who might have a clue what the diadem looked like. He was still hoping that he could retrieve the diadem without confronting Voldemort, so that he could be the one to finish things off.

"Here, you," came a gruff voice to their left. "Have a seat, don't go blocking the door."

Harry turned to look at the old man, and felt a rush of strangeness in his belly. When he'd been here before, he was a little preoccupied with pretending to be a Death Eater. But now, he took a moment to look Aberforth Dumbledore in the bright blue eyes and feel the loss of his mentor all over again. He wondered, not for the first time, how this man had struggled through losing his brother. Harry knew they hadn't really been on speaking terms. He knew that he and Neville had been the headmaster's family, in the end. But Harry rather thought that would make it harder on Aberforth. To know that his brother had died with those issues unresolved.

"Are you who I think you are?" the old man growled.

Harry nodded, giving Hermione's hand a squeeze to indicate that she should be patient for a moment. He hardly had any time left, but he'd been with Dumbledore at the end and he should be able to say something to this man.

"You're the one that my brother was training up, like the meddlesome old coot he was?"

Harry felt his free hand balling up into a fist.

"I'm Harry Potter," he said sharply. "And I asked the headmaster to teach me, because I'd never met anyone who knew as much as he did."

"Knew everything except how to apologise," Aberforth grunted, retreating back behind his bar when he saw that Harry was not receptive to his attitude.

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Are you insane, or just bloody stupid? He made his whole _life_ an apology. Everything he did was done for someone else's sake, and I don't care how bad things went when you two were young, because at the end of his life he'd become one of the best men I'll ever know. And if you'd pulled your head out of your arse long enough to talk to him, you'd have known that. You think now that he's dead, you can just say what you like about him?"

Aberforth was rapidly blinking, sending flashes of blue at Harry, then he suddenly laughed. It sounded like rusty parts scraping over rock, but at least it was humour. "That Longbottom boy never lets me say anything about him, either. Longbottom's a good sort, and I had to see what sort you are, didn't I?"

"Why?" Harry asked, confused.

"I'm not about to let just anyone through, am I?" Aberforth asked rhetorically. "Can't be sending fools and cowards to join the fight."

Harry relaxed a bit, feeling an inextricable desire to like this man. "Oh, well, that's okay. We've been doing our bit from out here. We just need to go up for a minute to talk to someone."

"Long as it ain't that bastard of a headmaster," Aberforth said with a shrug. "I've seen what he allows to happen to those kids, and I hope he meets a werewolf in the Forbidden Forest some night soon."

Harry felt a pang at that. Snape was just one of the people whom Harry should have delivered long since. He could only hope that this went well enough that everyone would understand what Snape had done. And not done, for that matter. Harry wondered if Sirius or Snape would tell anyone that it had been Harry, all along.

And suddenly Harry just had to say it. He went to the counter, knowing that Hermione was behind him and would hear this and would be even more hurt that she hadn't known until now, but mostly just feeling like Aberforth of all people deserved the truth.

"Your brother was sick. Very sick. He was dying," he said, feeling choked and glad that the bar was empty of patrons. For some reason, what bothered him was not people overhearing, but someone seeing him cry about it and getting the wrong idea. "And he knew that he was dying. He asked Snape to let him go out with some dignity."

Aberforth's face twisted in rage, and he found his wand in the pocket of the stained apron he was wearing.

"But he wouldn't do it. He _didn't_ do it."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that Snape's never killed anyone in his life."

"Then . . . Albus did die of illness?"

"For the most part," Harry murmured. "But Snape had to make it look good for Riddle, didn't he? So I helped. I used Snape's wand."

"You're telling me that you killed my brother?"

"I did. At his own request."

Comically surprised, the old man sat down on the stool by his cash box, letting his wand fall onto the bar with a clatter.

"You did?"

"Snape was the only one who knew, all this time, but he couldn't say anything because he was supposed to have done it. But it's almost over now, and I wanted you to know. Because you were his brother, and I can see that it still means something to you. So now you know. And I have to be going, because I have a war to win. I just, well, need to thank you for everything you've done for the students. Everything that shouldn't have been necessary, because I should have been able to do this sooner. You're a good man, like your brother."

Aberforth didn't say another word, he just took them to the portrait that Neville had told them of, the portrait of the sister who had died so long ago and who had stood between the Hog's Head and Hogwarts in more ways than one. Harry had never asked about Ariana, but he'd been told all kinds of stupid things when he'd been forced to hang out with politicians. He found himself smiling at the girl as she opened the secret corridor for them. None of it had been her fault, and he was sorry for whatever part of her was stuck in the portrait for having to watch all the bitterness that had followed her death.

Hermione took his hand again when they began their trek upward. He almost broke into tears that she would still even want to touch him, after the way he'd treated her for the past week.

"Harry?" she whispered, and even so quiet her voice bounced off the dank walls and carried too far.

"Hmm?"

"You didn't tell me."

"It wasn't mine to tell. Snape and I had to sort of protect each other, you see? I couldn't have told, because it was up to him. But . . . I keep saying this. It'll be over soon, and then it won't matter anymore. But Dumbledore was in so much pain, Hermione, and I don't feel guilty for doing what he asked. I just wish I could have told you sooner."

"There's a lot of things you haven't been telling me," she murmured. "I know we don't have time right now, but once we get the description, and before we go to the manor, we really have to talk."

"Okay."

They clambered out of the portrait hole and found half of the DL staring at them.

"Harry? Hermione?" Ron said, looking up from a book he was reading.

"What are you doing here?" Dean added, looking up from some sort of medical treatment he was applying to Ginny's knee.

"Not that it isn't good to see you, oh Great One," Seamus threw in, tossing a handful of cards onto the table where a few other students were sitting with him.

"Is Luna here?" Harry asked, helping Hermione through. "We came to see her."

"I'm here, Harry," she said, coming through the press of people. Harry took in a few of the things surrounding them as she came forward. The room was decorated all in white and black, for some reason, and full of hammocks and study desks. There were far too many people here for Harry's sanity to contemplate. Far too many people having to hide in their own school.

Hermione was being greeted by some of her old roommates, but she pulled away from them to follow Luna and Harry over to a corner. Everyone was just staring at them, waiting for Harry to reveal the reason he'd come out of hiding. He was gratified to see that the Care Package had gotten some use, he saw a few bandages here and there and the tell-tale oily smear of bruise cream that hadn't been rubbed in long enough. But he cleared his throat, and made everyone jump, get guilty looks, and turn away to resume their previous activities. Those seemed to include studying, fighting with wooden swords, playing cards, and painting one another's fingernails (which, thankfully, was strictly a girls-only activity in this room). He didn't see Neville, and assumed that he was either causing trouble or getting into some.

"Luna, do you remember when we talked about the diadem of Ravenclaw?"

"Yes."

"I believe that it is real, and not lost. But to find it, I need to know what it looks like. Do you happen to know that?"

"I know what it is supposed to look like," she said dreamily.

"Focus, Luna. Tell me."

"Okay, but I really think it would be easier to show you."

"To show me?" he repeated blankly. "You have it?"

"There is a statue of Rowena in the common room, and she is wearing the diadem. Would you like to see it?"

Harry and Hermione looked at one another and spoke without words. They knew it was a bad idea to leave this room and go into the school. But the more information, the better. Because as bad an idea as it may be, it would be still worse to walk into Malfoy Manor without a clue what the diadem looked like. It wouldn't be a brilliant idea to take it on faith that they'd found the right one and have it turn out to be some manky old Black family heirloom.

So Harry nodded. "Okay, Luna. Take us there."

"Do you have your Invisibility Cloak?" Hermione whispered.

"No, I left it at the house. Hold still, I'm going to Disillusion you."

She held still, then repeated the favour on him. Luna, being herself, had no problem acting as if she were walking alone, and didn't act at all bothered by two invisible people following her to the Ravenclaw dormitories. She didn't make any attempt to speak to them, just hummed tunelessly to herself as they made their journey past trick steps and statues they couldn't identify. Harry's heart was squeezing unbearably, wondering if he was seeing these halls for the last time. When they reached the plain wooden door that was the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, Luna lifted her hand to the bronze knocker. The eagle spoke softly.

"Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?"

Luna looked thoughtful. Harry was impatient.

"Neither," he snapped. "It's the same stupid chicken and egg question that Muggles torment themselves with, and it's neither one, because it's a never-ending circle, and we don't bloody have time for this."

"Oh, _well_," the eagle said in a highly affronted tone, and the door opened. Harry paid no attention to the tall starry ceiling or the high windows, instead making a beeline for the white statue set opposite the door. He stared at the tiara on the head of the woman before him, marking its important features. It was small and delicate, and etched with Ravenclaw's clever little motto. He hoped it would be so easy to identify the real one, but he sort of doubted that it would actually have the words engraved on it.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Now back to the Tonks' house to ask Draco about it, then we go to the manor. Hermione?" he said, holding out his hand for her, even though they were both invisible. She knew that he was reaching for her, and she somehow found his outstretched hand. Even with everything between them, she knew it, and still wanted to take his hand. It made Harry bite back a cry.

"It's going too fast," she said in a tiny, broken voice. "It's all happening too fast."

"I can't let it go on anymore," he answered.

Luna didn't even ask. She just opened the door, and they stepped out into the corridor again.

"_Finite Incantatum_!" crowed a triumphant voice.

Suddenly, they were there. Visible. It could hardly have been more shocking if they were naked. And they were staring into the surprised and glowing face of a doughy, ugly little man.

"It's Potter himself!" he gasped. "Alecto told me she heard someone sneaking around with the Ravenclaw bint, but I never expected Potter!"

Harry Stunned him immediately, and ran. Hermione and Luna followed him, but they didn't get far. As they rounded the corner, Snape came billowing up the corridor. His hands flashed out and he shoved Harry by the shoulders into a wall.

"You stupid _child_—"

Harry wasn't thinking, he was just reacting to being physically attacked. He hooked the man's ankle and shoved him away, and Snape fell to the stone floor with a growl of outrage. He simply sat there, legs sprawled, raising himself up on his hands to give Harry the coldest, angriest look he'd ever received.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he croaked. "The Carrows called him. He's coming. He's bringing the full force of the Death Eaters to bear on you. _Here_."

Harry had been in motion, not stopping his movements or his thoughts once since the moment Remus had taken Teddy from his arms that morning. But now he stopped. He and Snape stared at one another, both processing exactly what was about to happen. After all his rushing, he was still too late. His moment had come. He had to stop running.

Harry broke the spell with a short nod. "I'm almost ready. I just have to say something to Hermione. We're going to hide, for a few minutes."

"People are about to start dying, Potter. Don't you understand? You . . . we are all about to die."

"I know," he said, feeling like he was speaking down a long tunnel. His ears were ringing. "The DL will want to fight, but they should get out. You have to find McGonagall and evacuate the students. What I have to do won't take long." He looked at Snape again, wondering if his eyes were actually burning holes in things or if it just felt like that. "It's almost over. I'm ending it tonight."

Snape didn't say anything, just hauled himself to his feet and watched as Harry grabbed Hermione and ran again. Almost over. Those words should have sounded so sweet to him, but the bleakness of Harry's voice had told him that it wouldn't happen the way they wanted it to. It was almost over, but the ending would hurt.

* * *

Harry: Well, folks, I'm afraid that my creator Faren has chosen a cruel path. She is choosing to post this chapter just before going away for a week, meaning that we are all suspended here for at least a week and half. She is such a maniacal bitch.

Hermione: Language, Harry. Even if it is cruel of her to just leave me running down a hall with my heart being ripped out until further notice.

Harry: I'd apologise, but I'm sort of stuck in the same position.

Snape: At least she let me up off the floor.

Sirius: Pipe down, you lot. At least you didn't get stuck completely unaware of what was happening to the person you love most in the world.

Luna: Perhaps we could pass the time by guessing whether or not she means to kill us off. I don't think everyone is going to live through this.

Neville: Honestly, I think I'll be the first to go. What is she going to do with me once the war is over? I don't even know what I'd do, and I'm me.

Ron: Well, it's no use trying to sort it out ourselves, is it? She's the author, it's up to her.

Ginny: Bollocks to that. I'm not going down without a fight.

Draco: While you idiots carry on blathering, I'll take over. The readers are supposed to be reminded that while Faren will not be able to reply to reviews until next week, she would love to come back to an inbox overflowing with reviews. I have to admit, I'd like to see that, myself. Just so I know that I'm not the only one who thinks Harry is a psychotic freak.

Harry: Shut up. No, not you, dear readers, just him. Faren wants to know if you like her poetry.


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N:** I didn't answer reviews from my readers this time around, because I reckoned you would rather I used the time to work on the chapter and get it out as soon as possible! But please believe that I not only read them, I deeply appreciated the time you took to ask questions and give me feedback. I live for your reviews!_

_On another note, my trip to Mexico was a blast. Me and the youth pastor of my church took a group of teenagers down there to work and to do a children's program. It was hard work and stressful, but it was wicked awesome to be directly on the beach! So, I'm back, with sunburnt nose and a twisted ankle, and every intention of finishing this story within a couple of weeks. You lot are amazing, and you've been waiting a long time. So, here is the next installment. I know it ends with a cliffhanger, but I had to stop there or the chapter would have gone on for another thirty pages and taken forever to get to you!_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

His godson had just been fed, and was resting comfortably in his arms, fast asleep. His hair was currently a plain brown colour that they were guessing meant he was content, his parents were watching with prideful expressions, and he was almost a full day old. This was one of those rare, perfect moments in life, that could never be found the same way twice but would almost be remembered.

Sirius, still looking at Teddy, spoke very softly. "Do you remember the first time Lily let us hold Harry?"

"He threw up on you," Remus reminded him, his voice slightly muffled because he was laying beside his wife on their bed and he had turned his face into her neck, breathing deeply of her scent. She smelled a bit sour from sweat and breast milk, but he didn't mind. She was only moments from joining her newborn son in sleep.

"He always was a little difficult," Sirius mused, but he was smiling.

Remus felt his stomach twist. He was remembering his conversation with Harry this morning, and was still at war with himself as to whether he should tell Sirius about it. He wasn't sure if Harry had spoken out of fear or certainty, and he'd been gone before Remus could press him for more. Harry and Hermione had been gone long enough as it was. He was getting close to suggesting they go look for Harry. He knew Hermione would do her best to stay with Harry, but after what he'd said . . .

Someone was shouting downstairs. They heard the noise all the way from the third floor in the bedroom. Sirius immediately handed Teddy over to his no-longer-drowsy mother, and both he and Remus rushed downstairs to the study.

Minerva McGonagall's head was in the fireplace, but she was hardly recognisable. Her hair was escaping its tight bun, and her eyes were huge and panicked.

"Sirius," she barked out as soon as she saw him in the room.

"What is it?"

"It's Hogwarts," she said simply. "Get everyone here immediately."

"What's happening?"

"One of the Carrows spotted Harry and Hermione, and they called Voldemort. He's coming, and he's bringing everyone. He means to take Harry tonight. I've started evacuating the school, but I need _help_."

"Done," Sirius barked.

McGonagall disappeared. Sirius turned away from the fireplace toward Remus, and he felt his vision, his thoughts, his entire being narrowing down, coming to focus on a single point: Harry. He could not wrap his mind around the idea that he needed to make calls and visits and round up the Order. He had to get to Hogwarts, and he had to get to Harry.

"Remus," he choked out. "I can't— I have to find him—"

"I'll do it," Remus said decisively, putting his hand on Sirius' back, steadying him momentarily. "I'll get everyone."

"I don't mean to be— but he's my _son_ . . ."

"I know. Go, Sirius."

Sirius embraced Remus painfully, slamming his arms around him. "Thank you," he muttered, and he ducked into the fire.

As soon as he was through, Remus made his first call, to the Burrow. Bill and his girlfriend Fleur were there, as well as Molly and Arthur, and Remus exacted a promise that they would call their other children to help before they went rushing off to the school. He saw how much it had cost them to make the promise in the pain on their faces. Two of their own children were in that school, and knowing those two, were likely to be fighting rather than evacuating.

Remus heard a noise behind him and looked up expecting to see Neil or Simon. Instead, of all people, it was Draco Malfoy standing there.

"I didn't think you were here," was all Remus could think to say.

"I came to check on the Polyjuice," Draco said distantly. "What's going on?"

"He's attacking Hogwarts," Remus said, his mind beginning to spin with feelings of unreality, like this couldn't actually be happening.

"Why?"

"Harry is there, apparently."

Draco's hands became fists. "There's going to be a fight?"

"McGonagall asked for reinforcements. She's trying to get the children out of the school."

Draco spun on his heel and ran up the stairs. Panicked, not knowing what the boy was planning to do, Remus ran up behind him. Draco had grabbed a large bag and was sweeping the bottles of finished potions off the shelves into it.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking these to the school," he muttered.

"What?"

"They'll need everything they can get."

Remus opened and closed his mouth a few times, then shook his head abruptly. "Take it to Hogsmeade. Don't go to the school unless you're going to fight."

Draco had no answer to that, pinching his lips together until they were nearly white, and Remus didn't have anything to say to the boy, so he left him gathering his potions and went back to his calls. Moody. And Shacklebolt. Oh, Merlin, he'd never get everyone together in time.

Upstairs, Tonks clutched her son close and wept in frustration, knowing she was no good in a fight right now. Her only thought was keeping her husband here with her. If she was stuck here, so was he.

* * *

Without thinking, he made his old office his destination, and dashed out with cold ash falling from his clothes in a flurry behind him. He ran as hard as he could. He had never been much of a runner, but tonight he ran with wings on his feet.

Until he saw Severus Snape, who was simply standing there, leaning against a stone wall and staring very hard at nothing. He had his right hand wrapped painfully tight around his left arm. He nearly tripped trying to stop in front of the man.

"Where is he?"

It was hardly a question so much as a threat, pushed out of heaving lungs and through a snarling mouth, posed by a man who was so overcome by his emotions that he was shaking. Severus didn't even consider the possibility of not answering.

"I don't know," he said, sounding altogether _too_ calm. "He said he was going to hide. He said he was going to finish things tonight."

"It sounds as though he and Voldemort have the same plan."

"Yes," Severus agreed, his voice distant. The pain in his arm was so much that even he could not mask it now, and the conversation was sapping what little strength he had put into the task of not breaking down into screaming. His master seemed to know, somehow, that Potter had stood before him and that Severus had let him go. He massaged the Mark on his arm, cold sweat standing on his skin. In so many ways, things were drawing to a close. Severus tried to imagine what would come after this night, and could imagine nothing.

"_Well_?" Sirius growled, his hands quivering with the need to wrap themselves around the aloof man's throat and squeeze.

Severus abruptly released his grip on his arm, and stood up straight. His face was more than austere now, it was drawn away so that he hardly looked human. His dark eyes were pits of ice in his gaunt face.

"He's here."

And then he was. Voldemort, dressed in dark robes and with his red eyes glowing with an unholy anticipation, was striding along the corridor. How he'd gotten in, Sirius couldn't imagine, unless the Carrows had gotten past Minerva to open the door for him. Sirius nearly despaired. Most of the children were still here, and they'd never be able to stay out of the way once the fight began. He should have stayed back, should have done what was asked of him and brought fighters with him. But _Harry_ . . .

"Sirius Black," Voldemort said with surprise, coming to a graceful halt only a few feet away. He grinned. "I thought to find only one of my enemies here tonight, but you will be pleasure to begin with."

Sirius gripped his wand, ready to fight, but believing he'd be dead without ever getting to say goodbye. But Severus had only to shift his feet to be standing in front of Sirius, facing the Dark Lord and hiding Sirius from his view.

"Severus?" Voldemort asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"What are you doing?" Sirius hissed.

Without so much as turning his head, Severus answered him. "I owe Potter a debt. I choose to pay it now."

"What?"

"Run, Black," he said in a dead voice. And while his master was still confused, still trying to grasp what was happening, Severus began to hurl spells at him, driving him back down the corridor while Sirius just gaped.

Luckily, Sirius recovered first. Without making any attempt to understand, he did as he was told and ran. Voldemort took another second or two before he began fighting back, and so it was that Sirius got away and the debt that Severus believed he had owed to Harry since the death of Albus Dumbledore was filled.

Severus saw the snake behind her master, that damned snake Nagini who had so tormented and frightened everyone, and he saw a blaze of white-hot anger in his vision. He concentrated all his efforts on the snake. Voldemort could not be killed, could not even really be touched, but the snake could. Severus used his own curse, the one that had gained such popularity. With _Sectumsempra_, he cut the hateful snake in two.

Voldemort cried out as though he himself were in pain. "_Avada Kedavra_!" he screamed, spraying spittle from his lips in his fury.

The green light struck Severus in the chest. He saw, for only a moment, soft waves of red hair. Then he saw nothing at all. And Voldemort deliberately used the robes of the dead traitor to wipe Nagini's blood from his shoes before he began his search for Harry Potter.

* * *

Draco was frantically trying to squeeze a few more potions into his bag, but it was full. He had no clear thoughts. He only knew that he wanted these to be at the fight, supplementing whatever was in the Hogwarts school stock. He had no idea if they would be used to treat Susan Bones or Belltrix Lestrange, nor did he want to know. But he wasn't going to sit here and wait to hear that it was all over, either. He wanted to, wanted it with every bit of cowardice in his heart, but somewhere along the way he'd come to see it as a bad thing. And ever since learning that he was indeed capable of doing something right, it was hard to pretend he couldn't.

When he turned around, the bag full and his pulse pounding in his ears, he was stopped. His cousin stood in the doorway, a snuffling bundle in her arms. She was wearing a dressing gown and her eyes were red from weeping, and she was turning the little bundle so that Draco could see the scrunched-up face peeping out of the blankets.

"You haven't seen him yet," she said quietly. "Teddy, this is your cousin, Draco. Draco, meet Teddy."

Draco stared at the little face, the strangely crossed eyes. It made him feel sorry for the infant, that he couldn't seem to find Draco, so he leaned over and put their faces close together.

"Hello," he whispered.

A bit of drool trailed over Teddy's lips and his hair turned turquoise. He backed away quickly, afraid the baby was going to explode or something. Dora laughed, for some reason.

"I think that means he likes you," she said.

"Oh."

She turned her eyes to the bag he was carrying. "You're going to help?"\

He shrugged. He didn't know what he was going to do.

Her face was hard with emotion, struggling against more tears. "He means to kill Harry, and I . . . I think Harry means to die."

"What?"

"We asked Harry to be Teddy's godfather, this morning. He said he couldn't. He said he didn't think he would be here. We think he's planning to die."

Draco's mind slammed through several walls of panic, and he came out the other side with a feeling of dislocation. His pulse still hammered, but he felt it only distantly. He wasn't thinking about any of the things that had happened to him since Harry had arrived in England. He wasn't thinking about the fact that Harry was literally the only friend he had at this point, the only person who was really on his side, the person who had given him some semblance of dignity in the wake of his defection. All of that was true, but Draco latched on to the only clear thought he had.

"No he bloody well isn't," he growled. "He has a letter to write."

He pushed past Dora and Teddy and rushed out of the house and Apparated to the Hog's Head.

Dora carried Teddy downstairs, and waited until Remus finished speaking with Hestia Jones, then cleared her throat.

"You can't go," she said softly.

He spun around and stared at her. "Not go . . ." he sputtered. "Everyone's gone to help! Neil and Jeremy and Addison went! I can't stay here!"

She lifted Teddy up onto her shoulder, cradling his head and shushing him as he started to cry. "You know I'm too weak to go to battle right now," she said, struggling to keep her voice under control. "But Remus, if you go . . . I need you to stay here with me. To sit on me and keep me from going there. If you go, I go. Do you understand? I won't be able to help it."

"Dora, I—" He cut off helplessly, running his hands through his hair in frustration, making the gray-streaked locks stand on end.

She carefully passed his son to him. "He needs you to stay here."

"But he's why I have to go," Remus said in desperation, even though he was taking Teddy and cradling him close. "Don't you see that? How can I raise him, after I stayed here and let everyone else risk their lives?"

"We need you," she maintained, her voice strong. "You're doing your part already."

"This isn't . . ."

He trailed off when she drew her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown. She conjured her Patronus form and used it to send a message to Minerva.

"When the children are out of the school, send them to Grimmauld Place. Remus and I will take care of them and get them safely home."

Once the message had galloped away, she fixed him with a long gaze. "Will that be enough?"

He nodded dumbly. "I love you," he said hoarsely, jiggling Teddy in his arms to keep him quiet.

She smiled grimly, and went upstairs to get dressed.

* * *

He ran so much faster than she did, but she had no chance to fall behind because his hand was gripping her so tightly that she was forced to run at his pace. She didn't make it far until she was gasping for air, feeling light-headed, and close to bursting into tears because she knew she had to keep going. He noticed her struggling, and cast a strange charm on her, one she didn't even understand the incantation for. He shot it at her without breaking his stride in the least, or bothering to explain that it was a really unique spell he'd learned in Japan that he couldn't translate but called the Hummingbird Charm.

She suddenly felt as if they were not running fast enough. As if her legs could carry her into a blur of motion and she could dart from staircase to staircase without ever touching the ground. However, since she didn't know where they were going, she contented herself with running beside him, marveling at the feeling of her own speed. She was still gasping for air, but her legs weren't burning anymore.

She didn't ask where they were going. She trusted him. She'd trusted him all along.

He led her to the seventh floor, to the place where the entrance to the Room of Requirement would appear. But he didn't seem to be trying to rejoin the other students there. He was dancing with impatience, muttering,

"Need a place to hide, need a place to hide."

Finally, a door appeared, and he yanked her through it. He slammed the door, leaned on it, and sighed deeply. He paused to catch his own breath.

"Harry . . . where are we?"

Harry joined her in looking around in awe. The room was vast, and full of junk. It contained any manner of things, from the curious to the commonplace. There seemed to be rather a large number of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes lying about, a couple of wands, and a lot of books and magazines that seemed to be pornographic in theme. Silently, they began to wander through the maze of junk.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked.

Harry ran his hand through the dust on a broken end-table, which coughed at him moodily but didn't appear to be harmful anymore. "The place ugly things go to die," he smirked, but his face quickly became serious again. "It's a room for hidden things. Like us."

Hermione shuddered, and stopped walking. "Harry . . . he's here. He's probably looking for us right now. What if he's killing people?"

"I won't let him," Harry said softly. "But I just needed . . . a moment. Just one moment with you, first." He shrugged, and angry tears burned at his eyes. "Because I'm terribly selfish, after all. Other people can die, so long as I get to say goodbye to you."

"Harry, there has to be another way," she said desperately. "Don't _do_ this. Don't start thinking you have to stand in front of Voldemort just to find out where the last Horcrux is."

"No," he muttered, a strange little smile on his lips, "I don't have to stand in front of him to know that much."

"What do you mean?"

"Hermione, we've got to find that diadem. And . . . it's okay with me if you're the one to destroy it. This isn't prophecy, and it's not because I'm the Boy Who Lived. I'm destroying Horcruxes because I chose to, and the universe won't split if you take over for me."

Hermione was still certain that she'd be able to figure out a solution to the nonsense he was saying, still certain that she'd figure out some way to do this that didn't involve her lover standing before the most dangerous man she knew of. But his bleak voice, and the way he grimaced and turned away from her . . . it hurt too badly. She collapsed against a cabinet, crying. He had given up, and she didn't know how to help him.

Harry turned away from her, his heart shattered. She knew, and he knew she knew, but she hadn't really admitted it to herself yet, and he didn't want to have to be the one to say it. He cursed, but only in his head, and he idly picked up a tiara, musing about the one he still needed to find. Then the weight of the object in his hands slammed into him, and his knees wobbled.

"Merlin's beard," he heard himself mutter as his legs gave out and he fell gracelessly to sit on the floor. He held the tiara in his hands gently, almost afraid to speak aloud what he'd just found, for fear it wasn't true. "Hermione . . ."

She seemed to realize it was serious, and she righted herself and wiped her eyes. "What?"

He held the object mutely. He just looked at her.

"So what? It's a— but Harry, don't be ridiculous. That's not . . . it is?"

"I told you. I can feel them. This doesn't feel normal. It feels heavy, and sort of sticky, and . . . well, it looks like the one on the statue that Luna showed us."

Hermione didn't take it from him, she only laid her hands over it while he cradled it on his upraised palms. "It does. It feels weird."

"So Voldemort decided to hide it at the school," he said, almost laughing. "I can't believe it's this easy. But for Merlin's sake, it's about time we got a break, so I won't argue. Do we have basilisk venom?" he asked.

Hermione nearly giggled with hysteria, but she fought it off. "Yes. I've been keeping one in my pocket since the beginning."

"Oh, yeah," he whispered. "Get it out."

She did. They found a small box that had likely been hidden because of the curse placed on it, but which Harry detected and broke immediately. They placed the diadem inside the box. Harry poured the venom over the diadem, and put the lid on. Hermione cast a spell to seal the lid on, and they shook the box, making sure venom coated every inch of the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Harry held the box still, waited a moment, and nodded.

"It's done," he said.

Hermione grinned and launched herself into his arms, making him drop the box. He gathered her up in his arms, but he wasn't showing the enthusiasm she was.

"Harry, we've done it! Don't you realize? We already know where the snake is, so we're ready! We can get everyone together to help us, and we'll have a huge number of people to take Voldemort down!"

Harry grimaced at her.

"Harry?"

"Hermione . . . don't. Please. Just stop."

She froze in place.

"I wish I could smile, but you know, Hermione, _you know_. Nagini's not the only one. We both know it, and we've known it for ages. I saw it in you, when you first realized, and even though we never spoke of it we both have known all along."

"Harry, don't."

He sat down again, and tried to tug her down with him, but she refused. She stood above him, her fists clenched in anger and her head shaking with denial.

"You aren't a Horcrux. We've never determined . . ."

She trailed off at his look of despair. She kicked the box, its contents harmless now, and shrieked.

"You aren't!"

Harry had tried so hard to keep it together, but now he began to cry. They had come so far together, and he'd hoped it wouldn't be like this. He'd hoped she'd come to terms with it before now.

But that, it seemed, was all it took for her. At the sight of his tears, she went to her knees and embraced him, laying her hand on his head and breathing deeply.

"Harry. Harry, shh. I'm sorry."

"I'm sure we're both feeling a bit sorry right now."

"We shouldn't have left this so late, I suppose," she whispered. "We should have talked about it."

"We were too busy trying to pretend it wasn't true."

"I think we did well at it."

He shook his head, even though he was leaning it on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have. It wasn't fair to you."

Hermione's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I like to think I can make my own decisions. And I did decide, after the robbery at Gringotts. I didn't know how much longer we'd have together, but I knew I wouldn't let it end unfinished. We've loved each other too much to have it end without allowing it to be complete."

Harry sobbed. "I hate this. I hate the fact that I'm walking away from yet another thing I shouldn't have started."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I always start things, with all those implied promises, and then I walk away. I've been doing it my whole life, and I should have realized that I loved you too much to do it to you."

"Harry, you didn't promise me anything."

"It was more of a promise to myself," he muttered. "What I started with you was different. It was one that was never supposed to end at all."

"I wish it wouldn't."

"Me, too," he whispered, then he pushed away from her. "We . . . _I_, can't stay here any longer. I have to finish this, before anyone else gets hurt."

She stood up with him. She felt heavy. Very, very heavy. She was moving in slow motion, none of her limbs seemed to work right. It wasn't coming down off the charm he'd cast on her, either. It was her body reacting to the way her mind had come to crashing halt. It was over. Ten minutes ago, she'd been pretending there was no end in sight, and now it was over. Harry was going to walk from this room straight into the arms of death. There was no way to pretend anymore.

"What is your plan?" she asked, her voice sounding hollow in her ears.

"To go straight to him. To let him kill me. Once he's mortal, someone should be able to overcome him."

"So this is . . . this is it?"

He shook his head. "I have a few things to say," he whispered. "Hermione . . . can you deliver some messages for me? Please?"

"Anything, my love," she whispered, taking his hands in her own, though they were shaking, so she could kiss the hands she loved so much.

"These are . . . my god, these are the last words I'm ever going to speak. I have to think." They stood in the room full of broken and dusty objects, the place where ugly things, even ugly secrets, go to die. They were silent, while Harry thought. Hermione didn't let go of his hands. She reveled in the feel of them, knowing it was the last time she could hold them.

"Okay," he whispered. "I'll start with Draco. Tell him how glad I am that he trusted me. And tell him to decide what he stands for, because it would be a tragedy if he couldn't make up his mind even now. And Neville. Tell him he's everything I wish I was. Tell him he can keep the title, because he's earned it. Tell him to never forget who he was raised to be."

Hermione nodded, committing the words to memory, knowing she would deliver them exactly the way he spoke, because it was all she could do for him.

"Tell Remus and Tonks thank you."

"For what?"

He gripped her hands. "They asked me to be Teddy's godfather. I had to say no, because . . . I won't be here for him. But tell them thank you for making me a part of their family. And when Teddy is old enough, tell him how badly I wished I could have. Tell him how much I love him already."

She nodded, dry-eyed even though it should have made her cry. She was too focused on her task.

"And tell Sirius—" Harry choked. "Tell him he's all the family I ever needed. Tell him that I could never have gotten here without him, and I never would have wanted him to. Tell him how sorry I am that it had to be this way. I'm so sorry. And I love him."

Hermione nodded, and kissed his hands again. "Okay. I'll remember."

"One more," he murmured. "I have a message for Hermione Granger."

Her hands went still and limp.

"Tell her this: I love her more than life, which is why I can give it up to give her the world she deserves. I'll miss her so much it hurts. I won't stop loving her once I'm gone, but she should never let it hold her back. Instead, it should give her all the confidence she needs to move on, find something beautiful with someone else. I want her to shine, like the brightest star in the sky. She's meant everything to me, and more than that. I wanted to make her mine and make me hers, forever. I wanted to spend every moment, waking or sleeping, by her side. I'm so sorry that I can't, but I know her life will be brilliant no matter what."

She was shaking her head, unable to imagine life without him at all, much less a life of brilliance. She was crying now, shaking with sobs.

"If you can't remember all that . . ." he whispered, "just tell her that I love her forever."

He stepped forward to kiss her, and he kissed her more tenderly than she could remember ever being kissed before. He held her in the circle of his arms, and his lips communicated everything he'd just said, and more than that. He told her then how beautiful she was, the way he worshiped her, and how desperately he longed for her. When he stepped back, her fingers were so tight in the shoulders of his shirt that he couldn't go very far.

"I'll tell her," Hermione whispered. "So long as you promise to tell him that he meant the same to me."

She leaned forward and added the final note to the kiss. Then Harry removed both wands from the holsters on his arms, and held them loosely in his right hand.

"Take them."

"What?"

"Disarm me."

"Why?"

"Because I'll be damned if I let Voldemort have this wand," he said grimly. "Now take them both."

"_Expelliarmus_."

The wands came to her, and she caught them, marveling that she didn't drop them from her half-numb fingers. Then Harry walked to the door, while she kept standing there. He turned around when he put his hand on the door to open it, and found her eyes.

"Goodbye."

"No," she whispered. "No."

"I love you."

She let all three wands clatter to the floor and covered her face with her hands, and wept. The door closed, and he was gone.


	22. Chapter 22

**_A/N:_** _Thank you all for waiting for this with such patience! The ending of this tale turned out to be incredibly long, and I had to divide it into two chapters just to keep things from getting ridiculous. But I wasn't going to post the chapters only one at a time, because that would just be mean to you lot. So I waited until I had them both complete. That took some sleepless nights, I can tell you. I've been obsessed with getting this right. Some parts have been re-written three or four times. I don't think you'll want to read just one chapter, so before you begin, make sure you've got lots of time—you've got almost 50 pages to get through!_

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two

Harry was walking through the school in a pocket of silence, his steps measured and strong. He did not linger to look at the scenes around him, nor hesitate at what he walked toward. He saw students rushing through the halls, knocking one another over, milling about in a panic. He saw professors attempting to corral them into a semblance of order and get them out of the school. And he saw Ron Weasley and Michael Corner standing together at the top of a flight of stairs, flinging spells at the coming Death Eaters while the children behind them pressed themselves through the door that Hannah Abbot held open for them into the Room of Requirement. Harry never would have considered Hannah the last line of defense should Ron and Michael fall, but he saw the fire burning in her eyes as she herded the children through. She would fight for them like they were her own. The two male prefects were engaged in such a fierce battle that the magic and energy in the air had their hair standing up crackling.

No one saw Harry. He walked among them calmly and silently, and everyone was too panicked to see him. He was in a separate world. He would have helped the others, but he had given over his wand and he had a greater responsibility now. His help would come in another form.

He sang while he walked. "Secrets stretch like shadows . . . waving through light and through dark . . . down in the depths . . . join us in the depths . . . join us to linger . . . to hear what we know . . . join us in death . . . down in the depths . . ."

He wished it didn't have to be this way. But he remembered Dumbledore too well. How the first few weeks after the death were lost in a fog of pain and confusion. His soul had threatened to tear apart, and he'd waged war every moment to remember that love and respect had been the anchor point to that spell, and he'd felt no hate in his heart when he cast it. He'd volunteered for it without understanding how much it would change him. Even when he'd won through that terrible mist that obscured his view of his life, the set of his shoulders had to change to accept the weight that lay across them. He'd taken human life. What else was he capable of? It was always there, in his mind, when he slept and woke and laughed and made love . . . what had that action begun in him? he still wasn't sure he'd recovered from that.

So it had to be this way. It had to be Riddle. Because however much he would have wished to die in peace and safety, however he wished that the last thing he saw would be the face of his lover or his godfather . . . he would not ask it of them. He would not condemn them to what he had gone through. So the task of destroying the final broken piece of Tom Riddle could be none other than the man himself, whose soul would not even feel the weight.

Harry wouldn't have minded if it was any of his enemies, really. He wasn't choosy. But Riddle was, and his followers would not do anything fatal to Harry. He made no effort to hide himself as he walked, looking for the man who styled himself the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters would only be doing him a favour by capturing him. There were a few of his allies who noticed him walking, a few who tried to call out to him, but he ignored their shocked eyes and questions. He had moved beyond that point. He had already said goodbye. He had nothing more left for them.

Relief and regret walked with him, as though the three of them held hands to share strength for his final task. The balance was tipping heavily in favour of relief, even though it caused him shame to feel that way. All the struggles, all the fear, all the anxiety and sleepless nights and demands and clinging hearts and hands . . . it was too much for a boy who had wanted only to be left alone. And now he could lay it down. He could go to sleep after his very long day, and he understood now why a little pain in the end might not be so bad.

He felt his arms being grabbed. Heard shouts of disbelief that it was Potter, the Potter boy himself, and he was being pulled away. He followed, his stride still graceful, making it so they didn't have to hurt him to bring him along. It was Bellatrix Lestrange and her sadistic brother-in-law. Harry was forced to fall to his knees when Rabastan decided to take revenge for the graveyard.

"Crucio," Rabastan was saying, holding his wand steady, and Bellatrix was laughing with delight. Harry stayed on his knees, tucking the pain behind the barriers of Occlumency so that all his screaming stayed inside his head, feeling sweat rolling down his neck and feeling like he would tear in half in a moment. He locked eyes with his tormentor, willing the man to see that he wasn't afraid. Rabastan stopped after a moment, looking disgusted, and said they needed to get on with it.

"We must deliver him to the master in good condition," Bellatrix simpered, dancing along the corridor on light feet. "He wants to play with the boy first!"

She was saying other things, too, about what she hoped the master would let her do, but Harry wasn't listening now. He was thinking only about the end.

He had held all three of the Deathly Hallows in his possession, and he could have chosen to master death, to put a stop to it. The whole point in collecting those objects was to weave them together into immortality. There might have been a way for Harry to achieve it, and he might have become good enough with the Elder Wand to bring Riddle down without destroying the last Horcrux. But Harry had refused it, knowing what he would become, then. He would become a tyrant far, far worse than Grindelwald or the Dark Lord Voldemort, all the while thinking he was right. He would not walk down that path. This was the only other path he knew.

And that was what brought him comfort while the pair of gleeful enemies dragged him along. That he had chosen rightly. That he had not begun something much worse, ushered in an age of darkness while wrapping himself in feelings of righteousness. He was peaceful about this. It must be done, to save the others. And it was the others he cared about, not himself. What was he, compared to the world? And after what he'd done, what was he compared to anyone?

Feeling far too calm, he sang again. "Join us in death . . . down in the depths . . . whisper our secrets . . . to no ears but thine own . . ."

"That's a dark little tune," Rabastan sneered. "Where'd you learn that one?"

"My friend Reed," Harry replied. "Join us . . ."

They ignored him, though Bellatrix giggled when Rabastan muttered about how Potter had gone daft. They began to hear a horrible noise.

"Someone is screaming," Bellatrix laughed.

"Ravenclaw bitch, I'll bet," Rabastan replied.

They rounded a corner on the fifth floor and the bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach. Parvati and Padma Patil were shoving a group of young girls around the corner, shouting at them to run to the seventh floor. Luna Lovegood was not at the corner helping them. She was on the floor of the corridor, laying at the feet of Tom Riddle. Her face was red and wet, twisted in torment. Her blond hair was flung out across the floor, her back arched, her fingers clawed the stones until they bled.

"Tell me where he is," Riddle said, sounding like he was repeating himself. "Just tell me, and it will all be over."

"I don't know!" Luna was screaming, over and over, sobbing and breaking herself against the stone floor with the force of her convulsions of pain. "I don't know!"

"_Silencio_," Bellatrix hissed when Harry's mouth opened to announce his presence and end the girl's torment.

"You were seen with him!" Riddle snarled. "_Crucio_!"

Her scream could have shattered glass, had any been available. Harry's calm was all that was around, so it shattered that.

"Please," she moaned.

Parvati and Padma came storming back, shooting hexes with thunder in their eyes, looking like rampaging twin goddesses. But there were five Death Eaters surrounding their master, and they drove the girls back. It was too late for Luna. Far too late.

"Then you are of no use to me, little Ravenclaw," Riddle crooned.

_Mad,_ Harry thought wildly, _he's nothing but a madman_.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Luna's twisted body collasped. Harry, locked in the grips of the Death Eaters who had found him, broke through the spell on his speech with the force of his grief.

"No! No! Nooooo!"

Riddle spun around to see Harry hanging limply by his arms, screaming while Rabastan and Bellatrix pulled him along. The five men at his sides looked hungry when they saw him, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"You see, Harry? You see how many you have killed by angering me?"

Harry did see. He saw the still white form of the girl he'd been fond of, the girl who was strange and beautiful and filled with light no matter what she did. And he knew that it could happen to them all, was happening to them all now.

"Enough talk," he said hoarsely. "Finish it, Riddle."

"Now, Harry," Riddle said, sounding amused even though Harry could see the anger flashing in his eyes at the use of his name. "You would not rob me of what little joy I look forward to? Draw your wand, Harry, and fight me."

"Can't," Harry smirked.

"Here I am," Riddle smiled, spreading his arms wide in invitation. "My dear Bella, let him go, so that he may have his chance."

"I don't have a wand," Harry explained, not afraid to meet the man's eyes, not in the least. Because he was ugly and horrible, but he was only a man, after all. "I didn't bring it with me."

Riddle's smile froze into a hideous rictus of a snarl. He seemed to be at a loss for words at that most unexpected confession. And Harry was weary of fighting, of verbal sparring, of trying to convince this man that he wasn't a threat. Because it was _over_, dammit, and there was nothing left to hide. He just wanted to end it now.

"I am tired of hiding, Riddle. I already knew that you would kill to find me, so I came to protect them. It seems I am too late for her," Harry said, touching his fingers to the spill of golden hair on the floor. "But I am here now. You have what you came for, and you can leave this school alone."

Riddle seemed certain to want to talk about this. He was probably also planning to make the classic mistake of explaining what a genius he was for far too long, to gloat about how he had forced Harry to the point of sacrifice. Harry didn't have the patience for a gleeful speech. He didn't want to wait anymore, so he did the only thing he could think of to speed up the process. He transformed.

One minute, Harry Potter knelt quietly beside the body of his friend, and the next a great owl rose from the floor and launched itself at Riddle. The talons went directly for his throat and his head, determined to claw out the red eyes and destroy the malformed face. Perhaps weaken him to make it easy for the next person to take him out. He flapped his wings madly to avoid letting them be grabbed by Riddle's flailing hands, and tore chunks out of the man's scalp. Satisifed that he'd had the last word, the bird began to fly away, aiming for the corner down which the two prefects had disappeared. He was certain he'd insulted Riddle enough.

He was right. Riddle was incensed. He didn't know that the owl was calm, collected, ready, didn't even notice that the bird was banking and turning back to present an easier target. He was furious as he spat the spell.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Green light enveloped the great owl, and it plummeted to the stone floor. Blood-tipped talons curled limply, and the body lay still.

* * *

Draco arrived outside the doors of the Hog's Head with his bag of potions and stared in shock. He was already finding it hard to breathe, and the sights that met him were so spectacularly strange that he sort of forgot that he was trying. Children were pouring out of the pub, wide-eyed, some of them injured . . . and yet, Draco saw strange acceptance on their faces, even on the youngest ones. None of them had been insulated from the dangers during this school term, they'd come to believe that fear was normal—this was only the climactic chapter that they'd been waiting for all year.

Death Eaters inside the school. It was happening, just the way Draco had always imagined it . . . his aunt Bella shrieking with laughter, the werewolf Greyback tearing innocent flesh . . . He'd tried to run from it, tried to stay out of it, tried to ignore it. He'd gone so far as to place himself under the protection of Potter—the boy who was now inside the school believing his own life was not so important as the protection of these children . . .

Draco fell to his knees and vomited. He stayed on the ground on his hands and knees, the bag sitting heavy at his side, staring at his own sick. But somehow, he felt better. The dizziness had passed, the churning in his gut was gone. There was a girl somewhere nearby, sobbing.

"It _hurts_," she was whimpering.

Some of the school professors were here, and they were asking the children where they lived. If any of the professors knew the place, they grabbed the child and disappeared. If they didn't know the location, they shoved the student off into the ever-growing huddle of hysteria. Draco saw Percy Weasley moving up the street, pounding on the doors of Hogsmeade, demanding that the townspeople come to their assistance. Figured that one wouldn't get his hands dirty.

"It hurts," the girl kept crying. "It hurts."

Draco stood up, now feeling calm and steady. He found the girl who was the source of the noise. She was so young, maybe even a first year, and there was blood matting down her thick auburn hair. He didn't know what house she was in, couldn't tell. He just walked up to her, and smiled softly to reassure her when he saw the fear in her eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Darcy," she whispered.

"What happened?" he asked, touching his fingers to her sticky hair.

"We were escaping the dorm room, but there were Death Eaters. They thought we knew where Harry Potter was. They tried to cave in the doorway so we couldn't leave. A rock hit me on the head."

That would explain her glassy eyes. Concussion, most likely, which would explain her confusion as well. Draco rummaged into his bag, withdrew a potion for the pain, and also a Pepper-Up potion that would keep from from falling asleep until the danger from the injury was past. He knew a spell to relieve the swelling of the painful knot on her head, so he cast it before he pressed the potions into her hands and told her to drink them.

"Are you a Healer?" she asked him.

Draco shook his head. "I'm just trying to help."

She swallowed the potions, then Professor Sprout was there to take the little girl away. Her eyes fell on him with shock.

"Malfoy?" she said, incredulous.

Darcy touched her head, and grinned up at him. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Follow the professor," Draco told her gravely. "It's not safe here right now."

There was really no time for questions, so the professor just nodded at him, accepting his strange presence, and Disapparated with Darcy, who was lucky enough to live in Godric's Hollow, a place everyone knew how to get to.

Draco entered the pub, a scowl on his face.

"Why in Merlin's name don't you let the students Floo home?" he snapped at the old bartender. "The teachers don't know where a quarter of them live!"

The old man was grabbing children and pulling them through a gaping hole in his wall. Draco wondered when they'd built a tunnel from the school to the pub, and thought this explained several things about Fred and George Weasley. The man spun around with a growl.

"Bloody Death Eaters closed down the Floo network! Who are you to talk, anyway?"

Draco held up his bag and shrugged. "I just came to help."

"I'm Aberforth Dumbledore," the old man grunted. "What's your name?"

Draco was afraid to mention his last name, thinking that someone related to his old headmaster would not take kindly to having a Malfoy in his bar.

"Draco," he answered as simply as possible.

"Well, if you're going to help, then get to it!" the old man snapped.

So Draco sat down and set to work. There was more than one student who'd been injured trying to get away from an overly aggressive interrogator. There were several professors dashing in and out of the pub, and they all were utterly shocked to see him there. The ones who knew where he'd been hiding—Hagrid, McGonagall, the Order members—were at the school trying to stop the Death Eaters. He ignored them all. He treated a broken arm, another concussion, and a crushed foot. He wasn't a professional Healer, but he was what they had right now.

They seemed to respect that. Word somehow reached up the tunnel as the students spilled out of it, and those who had been injured came directly to the tall blond boy that waited at the end of their escape route. Aberforth cleared off a table with his cleanest rag and allowed Draco to line up his potions on it, to sit down and keep things organized.

A student came to him with a limp, dragging himself slightly, and Draco immediately recognized the Cruciatus Curse. He could do nothing but hand over a potion for pain and admonish the boy, no more than a fourth year, to get some rest once the professors had gotten him home.

"They're getting desperate," Aberforth growled, coming forward with a bowl of warm water and cleaning cloths so that Draco could clean away blood to get a good look at the wounds he was treating.

"They haven't found him yet," Draco said, and felt a smile tugging at his lips. Potter was still ahead of them, was he? Draco was startled to find that he was not only unsurprised, but pleased. He had told himself all along that he wasn't taking sides, that he was simply surviving, but he'd chosen to come here tonight. And when he thought about the struggle taking place inside the walls of the school, it wasn't such a stretch for him to be cheering for Harry's side. He didn't demand that anybody bow to him, and he didn't loose sadists and murderers on children. Whatever Draco believed about pure bloodlines and Muggles, he was far more able to support the side that hadn't lost its sanity yet.

And really, he'd always known, hadn't he? From the moment when Evan Rivers had flashed that confident grin as he sat at the Slytherin table, he'd known that this kid was different. It wasn't hard to imagine him winning, not even against impossible odds. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. Perhaps even the most cunning and emotionless aspects of Draco's mind had gravitated toward this side of the fight, without his conscious realization.

He'd expected to be full of disgust with himself if he gave in to the tug to declare his allegiances. Instead, he felt a huge amount of relief. Finally, it wasn't about winning or losing or about preserving his power or even his life. It was just . . . having something to stand for, to believe in. At last, he had that. And he suddenly knew why everyone else had been so insistent on doing it. He felt a wave of confidence rear up and crash over him. It was decided, and he didn't have to worry about what he wanted or what he _should_ do anymore. He just had to do it.

One minute later, while Draco was closing up the gash in the arm of a girl with black hair, the testing came. That night, Draco would be pushed to the brink, although he didn't know it yet. Still reveling in the strange sense of security that had nested in his chest, he heard a disruption outside. Too many of the cracks that accompanied travel, all at once. And then the children began to scream. The professors were shouting, and there were other people shouting back.

Draco ran for the window, stood alongside Aberforth, and gaped dumbly at the scene in the street. Wizards, laughing and wearing masks, were blocking off the streets, pressing forward and penning in the escaping students. Death Eaters. Attacking the students. Were they completely _insane_?

Aberforth seemed to think so. "Bunch of nutters," he growled. "What a waste of time."

Draco shook his head, feeling his stomach clench up again. "A distraction," he said with a shiver. "To lure all the adults here, away from the school. To make it easier to find Harry."

Then the first child died.

The street erupted.

Professors and citizens of Hogsmeade threw themselves between the attackers and the children, snarls of outrage filling the street along with the children's terrified shrieks. "Get back inside!" someone was screaming. "Get these kids out of here!"

The children were running back in, shoving at one another to get inside the pub, away from the Death Eaters. More students were still streaming out of the portrait hole, and Draco and Aberforth were staring at one another grimly. The pub was not large enough for the entire student population, not even reduced as it was this year.

Then McGonagall was there, shoving her head out of the tunnel and saying that the Lupins had volunteered to get the children home.

"They can all be Apparated to one location, and the Lupins will sort them out," she barked, taking in quickly the fight in the street outside. "Get them out of here! I'll send more people down to help protect the building!"

"Where are the Lupins?" Aberforth asked in bewilderment.

"Merlin _blight it_," McGonagall seethed. "I don't know who the Secret-Keeper is! I have to find Sirius!"

No more children could come through, the pub was packed with them. McGonagall was gone, presumably to find Sirius, and the battle in the street outside was raging fiercely. Both sides were taking losses. Tempted as Draco was to watch in shock and awe, he was aware that it wasn't very helpful. He took in the room full of pale faces, some of them streaked with tears, and took charge.

"All right!" he barked. "Any injured students, get to the table with the potions! Any students who have been in the DL or are prepared to fight, get your wands out. The adults won't be able to hold them back for long, and then they'll be inside. If you're not prepared to fight, get back into the school and try to find another way out."

Before the room could erupt into panicked confusion and chaos, another voice spoke up. Ron Weasley had ducked down the passage to make sure the students were getting to safety.

"My brothers have arrived, and they've located another passage out of the castle!" he shouted from the portrait hole. "If you're sixth year or under, get your adolescent arse back up there and follow Fred and George's directions! If you're in seventh year, make a choice, and make it now!"

Draco was already seating himself at his impromptu Healing station. Ron stared at him with curiosity.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"What's it look like?" he snapped irritably, dabbing blood from the forehead of a boy who'd been struck by a jagged chip of stone. Apparently, the wall had exploded in place of Ron Weasley's head, so the boy was submitting to the treatment with his awed gaze fixed on the prefect.

"Why?"

Draco shrugged, too anxious about the fighting outside and too busy with his responsibilities in here to answer a bunch of questions.

"You tell me, Weasley, you're on his side, too." He guessed the student in front of him to be a second-year, and pointed sternly at the portrait hole. "Get going. Next!"

Ron just shook his head in disbelief and grabbed the boy's arm to drag him up the passage.

* * *

Simon held his breath as he moved. Remus had followed Dora upstairs to see if Draco had left anything behind, just in case it was needed. Simon slipped down the stairs on silent feet, went to the study, and the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and stared at the fire with his breath caught in his throat. He trembled with nerves, but then he shook it off with irritation. He was going to help.

Remus and Dora would kill him for going. But if Sirius or Harry died, they'd be devastated. Simon had to admit, he was becoming a bit fond of those two as well. And he'd been learning to fight. They would need everyone they could get, wouldn't they? Besides, Fenrir Greyback was sure to be there. Simon was sick with the need to face him, to have his revenge at last, to finally be able to move on with his life.

He'd been listening, when Sirius left, so he'd know where to go. He tossed down his handful of powder, and the flames roared green as he stepped into them.

"Hogwarts, Defense office!"

Simon landed in the dark, empty office on unsteady legs, but he recovered quickly and set off into the castle at an easy loping pace. He was intent on his mission. He would find Sirius to help him protect Harry, unless he ran into Greyback first. You didn't live at Grimmauld Place without realizing that Harry was too important to lose, and Simon could no longer stand the idea of anything causing pain to the family that had taken him in. There was a man here who had killed his father, his beloved father who'd only just begun to heal after the loss of his mother. That man had harried at his new family, had hurt them, bled them, killed them. That man must be brought down tonight.

He jogged through corridors that were already deserted, passed by places that were already evacuated and searched and magically blocked off. The castle was eerily empty, and Simon didn't know where he was going. He'd never been here before. He ran past bodies. He was tempted to stop and stare at them, but instead ran faster. Not all of the dead people were adults.

He saw a thick-chested man with red hair, one he recognized from the Order, leading a trickle of young students through a hall, holding his finger to his lips to shush them and patting them on the shoulders for comfort. The man, one of the Weasley twins that Simon couldn't tell apart, gave him a sharp look and gestured him over.

"Come on, we've found a way out," he hissed.

Simon shook his head and slipped by them, deeper into the castle. He finally caught up with a group of fighters, and had to throw himself to the floor as he came around a corner so he didn't get hit by the spells sizzling through the air. Sirius was here, rallied together with Neil and Jeremy, fighting ferociously with a group of men who didn't appear to be speaking English. He wondered where Addison was, although he'd know if he'd come through the front entrance. Only a few of the Death Eaters had gotten inside before McGonagall had shut the doors, and now Addison was with a group of students who were flinging Professor Sprout's most dangerous plants at Death Eaters still trying to get in.

Simon's eyes were on his fighting friends. They were almost impossible to get to. Almost. The first things that Simon had learned from the combined teaching efforts of Remus, Sirius, and Harry had been magical Shielding techniques and physical dodging techniques. He had been working with his father's wand, and it was good for Defensive magic. Simon wrapped himself in layers of shields, then weaved, ducked, and rolled his way across the room. There were Killing Curses at work, and one flashed by so close that it ruffled his hair. Simon bit back a sharp cry of fear and rolled to his feet beside Neil.

"What are you _doing_ here?" the older man roared at him.

"Fighting!" he shouted back.

Professor McGonagall came charging toward them, with an army of desks galloping before her and trying to sweep the enemy away. They were determined not to go, but were forced to turn their attention to dismantling the attacking desks. It amused Simon, almost. But McGonagall's face was sharp with intensity, and she was flinging spells around her with something approaching ferocity.

"Sirius!" she cried out.

Sirius ran forward to meet up with her.

"The Secret-Keeper, Sirius, I must know!"

"This is hardly the time, Minerva!"

"The Hog's Head is under attack! The Lupins are prepared to get the children home, but they must have the location of the house to get there!"

Sirius gritted his teeth. "It's Neville," he spat out. "I don't know where he is."

"I do," she said grimly, and hurried on.

Sirius finally noticed Simon. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you!" Simon retorted, flinging out a Stunner at the wizard who'd cleared his area of rampaging desks, sending him into a defensive posture that Jeremy took advantage of.

"Remus will kill you! And me!"

"I'm going to fight," Simon snarled. "If you don't want me here, I'll go to the Hog's Head with Draco!"

Sirius stared at him. "Draco's here?"

"He brought medicine to help the students."

"Oh. Well."

Then they were under attack again, and they were forced to abandon the argument for the time being. Sirius was anxious to get away, to resume the search for his godson, so the three werewolves closed ranks in front of him to let him retreat behind them. Simon knew he was the weak link in their line, but he was determined not to break. And after another minute, the two foreign wizards who remained standing broke and ran. The three of them decided to make for the entrance to the school, where Addison was, and help with the effort to keep more enemies out.

There, Simon got his chance. They'd got the doors closed, but Fenrir Greyback was leading his loyal followers to try to break them down. A small group was standing at the shattered window above the thick doors, throwing spells and a few other things down on the invaders. Neil, Jeremy, and Simon climbed out through the jagged frame and dropped, Cushioning their landing. Dropped right in front of the feral pack they'd once belonged to.

* * *

Draco had patched up all the students that were able to fit into the pub, and was considering that he might need to go up the tunnel into the school to treat the students who were trapped in the Room of Requirement. Then McGonagall returned with a scrap of paper. Her eyes went around the room, and locked on Draco.

She rushed forward and thrust the paper into his hands. He looked down. _Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix Number Twelve Grimmauld Place_, it said in a messy, hurried scrawl.

"Can you perform Side-Along Apparation?" she demanded.

"Yes," he answered, trying to sound calm despite the fact that he could really only do it in theory—he'd done it precisely once.

"Then show the adults the location, and all of you get to work on removing the students to this address. The Lupins are there, and they will get the students home once we have gotten them to safety."

Draco felt sick again.

"You are not, technically, a member of the Order," McGonagall said softly. "But I need your help. I'm counting on you."

She was gone again, and Draco had to hold the paper away from himself while he bent his head and threw up for the second time that night. He didn't want to be counted on. Something this big shouldn't belong to him. He was . . . . But these kids couldn't wait. So he went to the door, ducked outside, and grabbed the nearest person, who happened to be Mr. Honeyduke.

"We've got to get the children out of here," he said. "Get a few more people who can do Side-Along and get inside."

Honeyduke was a jovial man who liked to sample his own products. But today, his face was red and twisted with fear and anger as he fought to keep his own underage customers safe. He nodded and lurched forward, tapping the shoulder of Professor Sprout and Professor Vector, and another shopkeeper that Draco didn't recognize. They retreated into the pub, forcing the people still duelling to move in closer to cover their absence.

"Read this paper," Draco directed. "I'll take you there so you know where you're going. Then start taking the students there."

Draco took all three adults to the street outside the house, one at a time, let them look for a few seconds, then back to the Hog's Head. Once they had the address and the front of the building firmly fixed in their minds, they began grabbing students and taking them there. Draco joined in. After the three adults, he was already feeling queasy. Four students later, his head was spinning with dizziness and his new and rarely-used Apparation skills were feeling exhausted.

Yet again, he threw up, this time moaning as he realized his stomach was now empty and the dizziness was stubbornly lingering. Determined, he grabbed Aberforth and took him to headquarters, and gave him the job of taking more students. They would need more adults, none of them could keep this up for long.

As if to grant Draco's wishes, the door slammed open, and the adults began pouring in, exultant looks on their faces. But just like in the faery tales, one couldn't have what one wished for without giving something up. Draco had heard the tales all through childhood, and he should have known. Should have seen what it would cost them to win. He just hadn't let himself think about it until it was too late.

"I took down their leader, and they just crumbled after that! They can tell the kids are clearing out, said it's not worth it anymore, and ran for it!"

It was Charlie Weasley doing the exclaiming, having arrived when Percy did and having immediately joined the fight while his brother roused the town.

"Their leader?"

That was Professor Sprout, who was gripping a table while she took a quick break from Apparating, to fight off her exhaustion and spinning head.

"Lucius Malfoy," Charlie said cheerfully, though his lip curled.

Draco's knuckles tightened over the back of a chair.

"Did you kill him?" Sprout asked hesitantly.

"Don't think he's dead yet," Charlie shrugged. "Zonko's dragging him in."

And indeed, Zonko was.

Draco gasped for air. One moment he was leaning over the back of chair fighting off sickness, the next he was shoving past the triumphant duelers to get at the limp form that was being half-carried, half-dragged by the owner of Hogsmeade's joke shop.

"Father?" The word was a strangled yelp.

Charlie turned wide eyes on Professor Sprout. "You could have told me _he_ was here!"

"He's been here the whole time!" she snapped. She shook her head, clearing it as best she could. "Well, come on, now that you're not fighting, help me get the students to Order headquarters! They're able to Floo home from there."

Charlie jumped to help.

Draco had grabbed his father's legs and helped get him onto the table beside the one where his remaining potions were lined up.

"What did you do?" he screamed at Charlie, but the man was already Disapparating with his arms around a sobbing little girl.

"There's people on our side that are injured as well!" one of the shopkeepers objected when they saw Lucius Malfoy being laid out. "The enemy can—"

"Is anyone in danger of dying?" Draco hissed, pointing his wand in the shopkeeper's face. "Well?"

"Don't think so," he mumbled.

"Then help yourself to what I've got, but get the fuck out of my way."

Lucius' face was untouched, but slack and lifeless. Blood was soaking his robes. Draco stood gaping for a moment, then reached down and with a snarl on his lips tore the robes off, exposing a silk button-down that was also soaked with blood. Draco ripped it open, sending a button or two flying, and stared in disbelief.

His father's entire torso was split in half, exposing everything that was supposedly so well-protected beneath skin and muscle.

Charlie was back to grab another student. Draco launched himself forward, swinging for the man's jaw, but Charlie just side-stepped.

"What have you done?" Draco screamed.

Charlie looked over and saw the ruin of Lucius' body, and went sheet-white. "I only deflected his own spell back at him," he whispered. "That's what he tried to do to me."

With a hoarse cry, Draco stumbled back and returned to his father. His hands waved uncertainly over the mess. He fell to his knees and tried to throw up for a fourth time, but there was nothing left to come up. He heaved, heedless of the tears dripping down his face. He stayed there for a moment, his head under the table as though it could protect him. His father's blood began to drip off the table and patter on the back of his bent neck. He shuddered.

"Okay," he panted. "Okay. Come on. You can do this. Do _something_."

He stood up, and began to cast spells to close the wound. They did little good, but Draco knew he had to slow the bleeding before a replenisher would work. He was desperate. Everything had changed in his life, but this was his _father_. He cast the only spell he knew, over and over, the one that was supposed to close up flesh wounds. This was too deep. Too many layers were broken underneath.

Panting to try to stave off the nausea that wouldn't go away, Draco grabbed a potion that helped knit together muscle tissue. He lifted his father's head, tipping the potion into his mouth, watched it dribble down his chin helplessly. He growled and shook Lucius.

"Wake up!" he shouted. "Wake up, you evil bastard, just drink this!"

Lucius moaned, muttered something. Draco's heart skipped a beat. He joggled his father's head again.

"Come on, come on . . ." he pleaded.

"Uhhhh."

Draco tipped the potion against his lips again, and Lucius swallowed.

"Yes!" He reached back for a Blood Replenisher, but Lucius tried to turn his head away. "Just drink it, you miserable old man!"

Lucius drank.

Draco coaxed another muscle regenerator into him, cast the spell to close up his skin again. Even while he was doing it, he knew it was hopeless. The internal damage was something he didn't know how to heal, and even if Lucius could survive a trip to St. Mungo's (highly doubtful), they would have other emergencies beginning to arrive, and Death Eaters would be at the bottom of their priority list. His movements slowed, stopped, as he realized he couldn't save him. He stared down at his father, grief-stricken, fighting the bile that was trying to rise in his throat again.

Lucius opened his eyes. Draco sucked in his breath.

"Draco?" he whispered.

"Fa— Father."

"You're alive?"

"Yes. Mother and I are both alive."

"How . . . Hostage? Why?" Lucius was obviously frustrated at his inability to talk, but it was just as obvious that each attempt was causing him enormous pain. His lungs were collapsing even now. "They brought . . . brought you here?"

Draco took one last, deep breath. The man had to know. There was no reason to deny him now.

"I took Mother and left by choice. And tonight, I came here on my own. I've been healing the students, and I've been helping evacuate them."

Lucius' eyes slid closed again. "Why?"

"This is the side I've chosen, Father."

Again, he rasped, "Why?"

"Because they're going to win," Draco said. "I've known all along that they would."

"So much more . . . intelligent . . . than me?"

"Better informed, perhaps. I've gotten to know their hero, you see. He's the reason I'm here instead of dead. And I believe in him, more than I believe in . . . in Voldemort."

Lucius tried to struggle his way upright. Draco could probably have answered the question in a way that wouldn't lead to his father getting upset and trying to get up to choke some sense into him, but he saw no point in not being as honest as possible. Not now. He laid his hands on his father's shoulders.

"Father, be still."

Lucius complied. He kept his eyes closed, gasping. Blood filled his mouth and he coughed, spilling it from his lips and making him cry out in pain. His face was gray, his lips were turning blue.

"Drink this, Father," Draco said softly, putting another bottle to his lips. It was only a simple pain potion, but Draco knew what would happen. If it eased his pain enough, he would fall unconscious, and he would never wake from it. But the alternative—to watch him suffocate while still aware, to see him try to ask more questions when every word was torment . . . Draco couldn't watch it.

Once he'd drunk the potion, Lucius lay still without needing the directive. His eyes were open, and he reached out his hand to grab his son's wrist, squeezing it with a strength Draco couldn't believe he still possessed.

"I have to live," he gasped. "I wrote you out of my will. To make you come back. I have to live. To change it back. I have to leave the estate to you."

Draco knew his father had only a few minutes left. He just shook his head. "It's not that important."

Lucius was incredulous. His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "My son," he murmured. "Still my son."

Draco choked.

"Chose your side. Smart. Survivor. Don't need me."

"Father . . ."

"Make. Our. Name. Great."

"I will," Draco promised, going to his knees while grief overtook him.

"Good. My son."

Draco couldn't find any words, but Lucius lost consciousness at that point and he didn't have to. He leaned his head against the blood-soaked body, feeling it with despair when the chest stopped rising and falling. He stayed there with his hands and forehead barely touching the body for a moment, then there was a hand on his shoulder.

Charlie Weasley was there.

"Come on," he was saying. "He's dead."

"I know," he said dully.

"You have to get out of here. The Death Eaters are attacking again. The defenders at the school's doors are making it too hard for them, and they want this entrance. You're in no shape to fight right now."

Draco stood up, feeling shaky and weak. He could feel the blood drying on his hands and the back of his neck. Abruptly his stomach heaved again, but there was literally nothing inside. Charlie held him up while he gagged and bent nearly double, but when it subsided, there was only a thin string of drool on his lips. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand.

"Do you need someone to take you Side-Along?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm not leaving."

"What?"

"I'm going inside the school. I have to know what's happening."

"Merlin, boy, your father just died and you're sick as a—"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Draco hissed, jerking away from Charlie. "I've lost everything, you idiot, and I haven't exactly secured my position yet! I'm going to find Potter and I'm going to make sure he kills Voldemort, because there's nothing else I can do now! So shove off!"

He marched into the portrait hole and began the climb. It was almost empty of students. They had all gotten away, it seemed. But when Draco came out into the school, he heard the sounds of battle, and knew that evacuating the students had really only been a secondary measure. The real work was going on in here. Every moment was agony, now. He still felt dizzy, and weak. His stomach and throat were raw, his whole mind was flayed open and raw, his entire being . . . But he knew what must be done. If he wanted to survive this, so must Potter. He would make sure that happened.

* * *

The yheard the call in the study, and they froze. Dora gave a wordless cry and the two of them raced downstairs, but they were too late. Simon had gone through. With a stricken look, Dora grabbed her husband's hand, and knew she couldn't hold him here anymore. Simon was theirs now, and Remus must go to save him. She couldn't argue with that.

"I love you," she whispered.

One last kiss, and Remus followed Simon into the fire.

He didn't see Simon when he arrived, and he didn't stay to look at the abomination Carrow had made of his former office. He had a boy to find. Remus tore through the corridor, but didn't see Simon anywhere.

"I'll kill him if the Death Eaters don't," he panted. He had no idea which direction the boy had taken. He knew why Simon had come—the stupid child couldn't stop fighting, anything and everything! But Simon didn't know this school, and he'd probably lit out at random. Still, Remus thought it was more likely that he'd find Simon at a pocket of fighters. Where were they most likely to be? The Death Eaters would search the dormitories, certainly, so Remus tried those first. Most of them were already empty. The students were in the corridors, trying to get out of the school while Death Eaters were snatching at them and demanding Harry's location. Some of them were being harmed.

"Where is Potter? Tell me where he is!" a short man who looked like a monkey was snarling, shaking a teenaged girl so hard her teeth were rattling.

"I don't know," she gibbered. "He doesn't attend here anymore!"

Neville and a girl Remus seemed to remember as being Slytherin came up the corridor, shouting fiercely. They slung spells at the man holding the girl, and hit him immediately. He fell to the floor unconscious, but there were two other Death Eaters who fought back. Remus was lost for a moment, just staring as the four duelled.

Neville and the Slytherin girl were unstoppable. Neville was brute strength, powerful with a small repertoire of spells, pivoting through the onslaught with his wide shoulders and unkempt hair, his eyes burning with passion. The girl was tall and lean and her hair swung about her in a hundred thin braids like whipcords, like Medusa, as she flitted past one spell and danced around another and flung out her own with swishes of her elegant wrist. They moved like one creature, flowing from one another to cast their spells, and flowing together again to shield. If violence could be said to hold beauty, they had it. They were mesmerizing.

The Death Eaters fell to them, and Remus woke up from his trance.

"Get to the seventh floor!" Neville was bellowing. "Just get up there, and look for the prefects! They'll get you out of the school!"

"Up this passage, quickly!" the girl hollered.

The students scrambled to obey, and Remus decided to follow them. There was a good chance that Simon had decided to go to the seventh floor to help the prefects fight, especially if he'd run across these two issuing the orders.

Neville gave Remus a strange look as he rushed by him, but they were heading in opposite directions. Neville was moving further through the school, looking for more students to rescue. The beautiful girl—whom Remus now realized was a woman, no mistaking it—ran at his side. Suddenly Remus remembered who she was. Veronica Vanderlay, Head Girl, whose uncle Macnair was one of the enemies in the school and who had chosen to protect the students over the loyalties of her family.

He wished there had been a moment to encourage her, because this was in so many ways much harder for her than for the rest of them. But they were running on, and Remus was running the opposite way, determined to find his foster son and keep him alive tonight.

He made it to the seventh floor, although he was nearly hexed by Ron Weasley and a narrow-faced, dark-haired boy whose name escaped him.

"Stop, stop, it's me, Professor Lupin!" he shouted.

Ron knocked the other boy's wand away. "Michael, wait!"

Michael Corner, that was him— he stopped, panting, reaching up to wipe sweat from his face. "Professor," he greeted him grimly.

"What are you doing here?" Ron snapped. "I thought you and your wife were sorting the kids out."

"I hope to Merlin that's exactly what Dora's doing," Remus answered. "But our foster son decided to join the battle, and I have to find him. Do you know Simon? Have you seen him?"

The boys shook their heads. "We'll keep an eye out, sir. What's he look like?"

"He's thirteen. Crazy-looking blond hair, bad attitude. He thinks he can fight them," Remus said in despair. "You haven't seen him?"

They shook their heads again. Then a commotion at the door to the room the students were running to caught their attention. Remus remembered the girl holding the door open, a girl with a thick blond braid and a sweet-looking face. Miss Abbot, though he couldn't remember her first name just then.

"The Hog's Head is under attack, and we don't have the location of the house where the children are supposed to go!" the girl was shouting to her fellow prefects. "They're stuck here!"

"Professor Lupin . . .?"

He shook his head, his face going pale. "I'm not the Secret Keeper. I can't . . ."

"They're trapped in the school," the girl moaned.

"Not for long," Ron snarled, and a terrier dog shot from his wand, scurrying down the corridor. "My brothers will help. It's okay, professor, we can handle this. You go ahead and look for your kid."

Fred and George Weasley came barrelling up the stairs, their faces completely serious for once.

"There's a passage the Death Eater's haven't found."

"Get the kids to follow us."

"Hurry up."

The kids were directed to go with the Weasley boys, who were frowning ferociously.

"We'll have to do this in groups."

"Keep the rest of them inside the room while we take these ones."

"We'll be back for more."

They set off, with twenty kids. Remus took the same passage down that they did, anxious to find Simon but stuck behind them while they trooped down the stairs. It was only moments before three Death Eaters swooped down on them. Fred and George were quick to defend, but the children they were protecting were too young to know how to fight. Remus jumped in to help, and soon the three enemies were dispatched.

"Think they'll be able to get up anytime soon?" one of the twins drawled.

"Not without a trained Healer," the other one grinned.

"Thanks, professor," they chorused.

Remus nodded, and rushed onward.

* * *

It had quickly become obvious that they needed more fighters at the front doors than what they had. Neil and Jeremy were doing everything they could, while Simon stood behind them and did Shield work. He hadn't wanted to, but when they landed in the midst of ten brutes with wands, he'd known Neil was right. They had to play to their strengths to get through this. Simon was good with shields, so that was his responsibility.

A few of the men were showing signs of moving in to make it physical. There were too many of them. Luckily, Addison and her band of NEWT-level Herbology students were still standing above. They had run out of plants, two of which were strangling the attackers, but they still had pieces of glass from the broken window. Viciously, they levitated the jagged pieces and rained them down on the werewolves.

Harrison, who had mocked Simon for being an orphan and whom Simon hated, lost an eye and most of his nose. He fell with a cry of agony, and was quickly Petrified by one of the students above. One piece of glass was large enough to impale another man none of them recognized. Two down, eight to go. Neil and Jeremy worked frantically. Stunners didn't work that well on their kind, even in their human form. But they conjured nets of ropes, flinging them forward and ensnaring Reese and Lourdes, who was a filthy pervert. The nets were followed up by Petrification spells and disarmament. Simon, still maintaining their shield, managed to cast a desperate _Confringo_ that knocked the closest of the attackers back while Neil and Jeremy put those two out of the fight. Four down, six to go.

Jeremy screamed hoarsely, a cutting hex breaking through Simon's shield and catching him across the back.

"Addison!" Simon shouted brokenly. "I can't hold it anymore!"

Addison knew her spellwork wasn't up to the task, but Simon's desperation and her lover's pain were too much to resist. She dropped down into the fray, snarling at the man who'd tried to rush forward to finish Jeremy off. Barrabas snarled back, and tried to bite her. Addison remembered this man, who had raped her twice with Greyback's blessing before Jeremy had taken her under his protection by putting his teeth to Barrabas' throat. She wasn't about to let him touch her again. Not for anything.

"_Inflamare_!" she snapped.

The man's clothes went up in a roar of flame, and he screamed, high and piercing. He fell to the ground and tried to put himself out. Another man she didn't know was trying to help Barrabas, but while he was distracted, Addison set him ablaze, too.

She fell back to help Simon with the shielding, knowing she wouldn't get an opening like that again, and not having the reflexes to create one. That was five down and five to go. Neil and Jeremy took down another. Four to go. Fenrir Greyback was panting with fury, snarling and snapping his teeth at them, frustrated because he was forced to continue spellwork. There were still a few students standing at the window, flinging down a few spells that were getting too weak to do what they were intended to do, but were doing a wonderful job of distracting the enemy so that they were forced to shield instead of attack.

They began to believe that they were going to win. They began to hope. Then reinforcements arrived, racing in from the direction of Hogsmeade.

"Bastards took down Malfoy!" one of them shouted. "It's no use at the pub!"

They joined the fray, and suddenly it was the four of them against sixteen attackers. They had lost this fight, and Simon fixed his eyes on Greyback. When he died, it would be with his teeth on that man's neck.

Greyback had finally realized that the two in the back were the ones he should have taken out first. He looked right at Simon, remembered him, and showed it in his gleaming eyes, his ghastly smile.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Simon ducked, but he already knew he wouldn't make it.

Neil was at the end of his strength. He knew it. He could feel one of his lingering convulsions about to come on, felt it in the trembling of his calf muscles and the pressure at his temples. He couldn't fight much longer, anyway, he was running out of steam. Then he saw Greyback's eyes light on Simon. He couldn't allow it, _wouldn't_ allow it. If Simon was gone, Remus would be devastated, and Neil wouldn't allow that to happen to the man who'd saved them all. Saved them from being like these men they were fighting. Simon had to live.

Stumbling, he threw himself in the way, and the green light sucked itself into him and disappeared. He crumpled at Jeremy's feet.

Simon saw it happen, but he didn't believe it. For a moment, all he could hear was his own frantic heartbeat. Then Jeremy shouted, "No!" and Addison screamed heartbreakingly, and Simon snapped out of it.

Neil was dead. Laying dead right there. For him. Neil had saved him from Greyback. Greyback had taken yet another person from him.

Simon couldn't handle it. With a howl of pure pain, he launched himself forward, forgetting his wand that was so useless and forgetting that he was a human, and forgetting everything. He threw himself on Greyback, screaming wordlessly. Greyback was so startled that for a moment he did nothing. He reacted too late, because by then Simon had jumped onto his back and was choking him with a strength he hadn't realized Simon had. With his arms locked over Greyback's throat, he savagely bit into Greyback's neck and tore. Greyback howled, but it was with laughter.

"That's the way!" he rasped, out of breath now. "You're still an animal like me, aren't you?"

The words reached through to Simon, who had blocked out all the noise. He lifted his face, saw what he'd done, and gritted his teeth to keep from retching. He didn't let go of Greyback's neck, his arms quivered with the strain of trying to choke the man. Greyback was trying to knock Simon off his back, but Simon had wrapped his legs around the man and wasn't going away. Greyback fell to his knees, choking.

Then one of the other Death Eaters took pity and hit Simon with a Stunner. Simon slid limply off the werewolf, collapsing gracelessly. Greyback coughed, stumbled back to his feet. Turned around, his foot lifted to crush the boy's tender throat. And a spell hit him in the legs, causing him to fall with a thud. There were _no bones_ in his legs, he realized, and he shoved his face out of the dirt with his arms, looking up to see who'd done it.

Remus Lupin's foot connected with his chin, sending him sprawling in the dirt. An injury to Remus' scalp had caused a trail of blood down his temple, and the red stood out in stark relief on his grim, white face. Greyback glared at him, but he was beginning to feel fear. Remus removed the bones from the man's arms for good measure, and conjured ropes to bind him. Greyback tried to talk, but he'd bitten through his tongue and could only spit out the blood pooling in his mouth.

It was a miracle that Remus hadn't been hit by the Death Eaters, but Jeremy and Addison were protecting him at their own expense while he retrieved Simon. Remus grabbed Simon's arms. "_Ennervate_," he said roughly, and Simon came back to consciousness with his body being dragged by the armpits away from the fighting. He stumbled, caught himself, stood upright and followed Remus back to the door of the school.

"You stupid, selfish child." Remus was just barely capable of speech, breathing the words out through clenched teeth.

Simon could still taste the blood in his mouth, and he began to cry. "He killed Neil," he whispered. "Remus, he killed Neil. And he killed my dad, and he tried to kill you, and— and— Neil's _dead_!"

The paralyzing worry was gone, now that he had found Simon. He wasn't angry, not really. It was hard to blame the boy. After the horrors he'd been through, facing Greyback was almost necessary. And from what he'd seen, Simon had been the difference in how long the others had been able to fight, so it wasn't as though he'd simply put himself in harm's way. Remus couldn't be angry when he watched Simon fall to his knees beside Neil's body and sob. He just grabbed Simon and pulled him away.

"You've worn yourself out," he muttered. "Get back to the house. Help Dora. Please."

Simon nodded, hiccuping, and humbly allowed Remus to levitate him back through the broken window into the school. Addison, Jeremy, and the students who had been helping them were all exhausted, Remus saw that immediately. They had to retreat. They had to leave the doors, let these Death Eaters inside. Their numbers had swelled to over twenty, and their little band couldn't keep them out. That was twenty more people who would be joining the search for Harry, Remus thought dully. And if they found him, Merlin help them all.

Then people began to leap through the opening, landing lightly on the ground and immediately engaging. Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour. Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot, the Patil twins. Minerva McGonagall, Melissa Sinistra, and Filius Flitwick. And coming from the forest, with a quiver in the earth to herald their coming, Hagrid and his brother Grawp. The Death Eaters cried out in shock and panic, and formed up in a circle, knowing they'd be hit from several directions at once.

After that, it was only a matter of time.

* * *

Teddy wouldn't stop crying. She'd made sure he was clean and warm and fed, but he wouldn't stop crying. Therefore, Dora couldn't stop crying. Or maybe it was her tears that were causing his. Either way, they were both near to hysterics as they waited for the return of their family.

Dora couldn't even let out her tension with pacing. She was too tired and sore. It was the middle of the bloody night now, her son was precisely one day old, and his father and brother were out there fighting and possibly getting themselves killed. She knew she ought to lay Teddy down to sleep, but she didn't want to let go of him. So she grabbed a sheet and looped it over one of her shoulders, crossing it under the opposite arm, and tied it tightly in the front. She tucked Teddy into the makeshift sling, his head against her shoulder, and she waited for something to happen.

It didn't take terribly long, although it had seemed like forever to the people on the other side who'd been fighting for every inch while they waited for a safe place to be made known to them. The first time someone knocked on the door, Dora had nearly panicked. But it was only Professor Sprout with one of the students, both of them looking at the squirming bundle in her arms but both in too much of a hurry to be able to exclaim over the infant.

"The Floo?" the curly-headed girl asked anxiously. Dora pointed, Professor Sprout wheeled around and Disapparated again, and Dora shut the door. No sooner had she done so than there was another knock. The hefty-red-faced Honeyduke was there with another student. Dora pointed the way, saw Vector arriving with another one, and decided to simply prop the door open.

She didn't have time to worry, soon enough, for she was far too busy. Although the sight of her cousin at her door with a few of the students did at least reassure her that the Death Eaters hadn't caught up with him yet. She was very afraid that he was going to be either killed or forced to join back up with them. But her husband was foremost in her mind, even though she had to let that all slide to the back as she dealt with what was in front of her.

"Don't push, we all want to get home!"

"I don't see my brother! I can't go without my brother!"

"I don't have a Floo connection to my house!"

"What about my things? I can't just leave them at school!"

Dora began barking out orders like a drill sergeant, which turned out to be exactly what the confused and fearful students needed.

"Get in a line, and stay that way! Shut up and quit crying, we don't have time for that! If you shove someone, you'll lose your hands, you hear me? If you absolutely must wait for someone, go wait in the dining room, and stay quiet! If you don't have a Floo connection, to wait in the kitchen until I can get you home! We don't have time for childishness, so you'd better just stay in order and get home immediately!"

Luckily, the crowd going to the kitchen was small, just one or two at a time. The group going to the dining room to wait for family members was a little bigger, but as time went on and the other group being Apparated in by the Weasleys arrived, their numbers dwindled. Dora could see that everyone who was doing the evacuation was becoming ill from the magical expenditure, and knew they couldn't last the night.

She sent a Patronus to Minerva, to remind her that the residents of Hogsmeade didn't have to fight to be useful.

Then, Simon arrived.

"Thank Merlin. Oh you stupid little—" She sputtered to a halt when she saw his red-rimmed eyes and the blood on his chin. Instead, she drew him into a one-armed hug, which roused the almost-sleeping baby in his sling and set him to crying again. "I'm glad you're back. Remus?"

"He's fighting," Simon said. "He got Greyback for me. I . . . Greyback was going to kill me, but Neil got in the way. Neil's dead. It's my fault. It's my fault, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Inside, Dora was heartbroken. If Sirius didn't have the prior claim, Neil would have been her husband's best friend. And yet, he wasn't even able to grieve because he was out there fighting for his life. It didn't seem fair. But this was the emotional blow she'd been preparing herself for, and she had enough wits about her to put her hands on Simon's shoulders and shush him.

"It's not your fault, Little Cloud. Greyback did the killing, not you. You were brave to go there and fight, and I'm glad you've returned safely." The only thing that could be done right now was to distract him until they were all back together again and able to deal with grief. "I need your help right now. Can you help me?"

He nodded, his face and shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

"I have to feed Teddy. Can you make sure the students who are arriving know where to go? Anybody who doesn't have a Floo connection at home is to wait in the kitchen, okay? I'll be quick. Once I've fed Teddy, I have to lay him down to sleep. I really, really need someone to stay with him and watch him while I help these kids. Can you do that for me? I need you to be there with him in case he wakes, so you can come get me."

He nodded again. Dora hurried off and fed Teddy, letting tears slide down her cheeks as her emotions jerked her between joy at the child in her arms, and grief and fear for what was happening tonight. She laid Teddy down in Simon's bedroom and sent Simon up to him. It was all she could do for her boys, to put them together and let them rest. There were others who needed her right now, no matter how her body ached and cried out for sleep. This night wasn't over yet.

* * *

Hermione dragged herself down the hallway, away from the last straggle of escaping students. She knew what needed to be done now. The snake, then the man. The snake, then the man. That was all, and then it was over. Harry had given her the Elder Wand to help her complete the task.

"Harry," she whispered.

His last kiss was burned onto her lips, and she half-wondered if it had left a mark. He was gone. But he'd said he would love her forever, and she _wanted_ his kiss to leave a mark. She was his, heart and soul, just as he was hers. How could that end? How could that stop, even now? She was supposed to think of him as dead, because he must be by now. But she couldn't. Couldn't think of Harry, her friend, her lover, that boy who burned with vitality and passion . . . he wasn't dead. He just couldn't be.

"I can't do this by myself," she whispered.

She could hear the sounds of battle raging inside the school, and she knew the Order of the Phoenix would have arrived in full force by now. That meant that Harry's family was here. She needed to look for Sirius. Sirius would understand what needed to be done, and he was a strong enough wizard that he might be able to do it. Afterward . . . after the battle, after it was over, then it would be time for her to deliver the messages Harry had given her.

She didn't want to deliver them, because that would mean admitting he was gone. But she had no choice now. Even though her throat was burning raw with the need to scream and wail and sob, she held it in check. Things were far from over. She kept herself under a Disillusionment spell as she stumbled through the school. She was tired, she'd been awake most of last night and she'd been running around all day, and now it was night again. But more than that, she was sick with grief, and it made her steps shuffle and her shoulders hang. She was in no shape to fight, and so she stayed out of the way. She just crept through the halls, intent on finding Harry's godfather.

At last, she caught up with him. He was in the entrance hall of the school. Arthur and Molly Weasley were there. Hermione saw Ginny as well, with Dean and Seamus on either side of her and a line of seventh-year students fanning out from them. She saw Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt and all the Aurors that had responded to their cry for help. They were in a desperately pitched battle to keep the Death Eaters away from the front door. There were more of the enemy outside, trying to get in, and these ones couldn't be allowed to open the door.

Hermione shouldn't take Sirius away from the fight, because he was doing an amazing job and they probably needed him. But she needed him, too. They'd known they would need help to bring Riddle down at last, and it was time for that. The snake would be with him. She felt certain she could find enough strength to kill the snake while Sirius faced down Riddle. They would need others, also. Riddle surely wouldn't be alone.

"Sirius!" she cried out, letting go of the invisibility charm. She Stunned the person Sirius was duelling before they noticed her there. "Sirius!"

Momentarily free, he was able to turn and see her. She beckoned him, and they ducked into one of the many alcoves in this part of the castle.

"Where's Harry?" Sirius demanded.

Looking up into his face, she couldn't figure out how to say it. She just released a strangled sob. He took her by the shoulders and shook her, which was probably the best thing he could have done. The rough treatment made her just angry enough to rouse herself. She had to be ready to _fight_, not cry!

"He's dead, Sirius," she said in a low, rough voice. "He's dead."

He blinked several times. "Of course he isn't, don't be ridiculous," he scolded her.

"Sirius, Harry was a Horcrux. Do you understand? He had to do it. He had to!"

Sirius shook her again, his eyes hard and unbelieving.

"I need your help, please. I have to find Riddle, and we've got to bring him down. Don't you see? It's possible, now. Harry made it possible to defeat him. I'll make sure his snake dies, and then Riddle is just a man. Just a horrible, selfish man," she whispered.

"Hermione, this isn't helping," Sirius said impatiently. "Wherever Harry is, he's got to—"

She couldn't stand it anymore. She lifted her hand and slapped him, hard. Sirius gaped at her.

"He's dead!" she hissed. "Harry just gave up his life for us, and I need you with me now or it will have been for nothing!"

Slowly, she watched his eyes fill with tears. "No," he whispered. "No, please, no."

"We can't cry now," she said, her own eyes welling up. "Sirius, please, stay with me. There's no time, now. Later. We have to fight, first."

A spell sizzled past them, they both slammed shields into place, and Sirius was with her. They had to survive if they wanted to grieve. But then they heard rich, bubbling laughter, and they saw Bellatrix Lestrange dancing into the entrance hall, her husband and a handful of the most trusted Death Eaters coming behind her.

"Bitty little Potter," she was singing with glee. "Nothing but a silly little bird! A _dead_ bird!" she whooped.

Riddle came into view. He was marching in with a slick, proud smile. It looked grotesque on his shredded, bleeding face. He'd been fighting, and the complete absence of his pet snake could only mean one thing. One of his ears had been torn off and there were gouges taken out of his skull, but still he was smiling with that chilling smile. In one hand was his wand, and from the other swung —

It was an owl. A huge brown owl swung loosely in Riddle's grip, being carried by its feet. Riddle saw the two of them, walked straight over. The entire hall fell into hushed silence, too transfixed by the gruesome sight of Voldemort and the dead owl to keep fighting. Riddle sauntered up and tossed the twisted body at their feet.

"I believe this belongs to you," he said with a grin.

Hermione and Sirius both looked down at what lay before them. They looked at one another, eyes wide. A tentative smile played at the right corner of Hermione's mouth. Sirius grinned in return, a delighted promise of pain. They turned to Riddle, still smiling, and he looked back at them in disbelief. They ought to be wailing! Gnashing their teeth, falling to the ground, screaming! He'd taken away their saviour, their hero! Killed him and dropped the carcass at their feet—and they were _smiling_!

"Looks like we win," Hermione said, her eyes glinting.

"You have lost _everything_!" he howled, raising his wand.

"No, you have," she smiled. "All those tortured pieces of your soul—destroyed. We did the diadem just tonight. You're nothing, now. And we still have everything we need."

The shock of what she was saying slammed into him, and he actually took a step backward. "I killed Harry Potter!" Riddle shouted, blood-tinged flecks of spit flying from his lips.

"Have you, now?" Sirius smirked.

* * *

People were talking. Shouting. He heard rage, but also joy. He felt sluggish. Lost. Who was he? What was he?

Awareness slammed through him.

_No . . ._

He could feel his body rippling, growing outward, felt the awful itch of feathers sinking into skin and the painful creak of bones elongating and thickening. He was becoming human again, brought back by his awareness of the situation.

_No, wait . . ._

He blinked, opened his eyes, saw people standing above him.

"No!" he cried out. "No, take me back! I said I wanted to _die_, damn you!"

But it was too late. Those red eyes were fixed on him, glowing out of a face marred with oozing blood, and all of it looked entirely shocked.

"Honestly, Riddle, don't you read?" Hermione, standing above him, said lightly. "Animagi always return to their human form in death."

Harry knew it was too late, now. He'd been sent back, and he had no choice but to live now. He surged to his feet and snatched the wand out of Hermione's hand.

"_Stupefy_!"


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

_Mist curled on the ground, but he recognized the street. One of the cleanest parts of the city. He'd walked this street every day for a year. He realized he was laying on the ground, picked himself up, found out with no sense of concern that he was completely naked. Why shouldn't he be? It was safe here. He looked up and smiled. There was the house, and the door was open. He could walk right in, and be home._

_He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that if he went in, he would never have to leave. It had torn his heart out to leave home, but this time he could stay. Forever. It was so safe and comfortable in there. He stepped forward eagerly._

_He stopped, frowning. There was someone standing in front of the house. Had they always been there?_

_"Hello," he said cautiously._

_"Welcome, Harry Potter. You were expected."_

_He frowned, retreating a step with suspicion. Every time he tried to look at the figure's face, it . . . shifted, somehow. He couldn't get a clear look, even when he stared directly forward. Male, female . . . human? He couldn't get his mind to focus in for an answer._

_"It doesn't matter," the voices reassured him. Voices. It had more than one. "You are very impressive, by the way. Many times when someone arrives, it is not ready to see what truly waits for them here. It would see and hear a person of its own imagining—it creates an usher that comforts it. But you are mature enough to see the truth that stands before you."_

_"I can't see anything about you," he said shortly._

_"You are not meant to. That is why you are remarkable, for being able to accept this."_

_"Why did you bring me to Brazil?"_

_"You have not been brought anywhere, Harry Potter. Your own mind has created this place. As much as you have matured, as wise as you have become, even you are not ready to see the truth of the place between places."_

_"I'm imagining this? I thought I was dead."_

_"Not yet, Harry Potter. Your blood ties you to the man who has slain you. He is kept alive by what runs through your veins, and therefore you are also kept alive. You don't have to be, of course. That is why you are here. Your souls are no longer tied, Harry Potter, and the blood connexion can easily be severed."_

_Harry's eyes were drawn again to the house. His favourite home, the one he'd most longed to return to. He could convince himself that he smelled empanadas cooking inside._

_"I can go there?"_

_"It is possible," the voices allowed. "But you must consider what it means."_

_Harry stumbled forward, eager to escape inside and shut the door and simply be home. The presence barred his way. He didn't know how he was returned to same place on the sidewalk, for he felt nothing. He was simply there again._

_"You have not yet considered!" the voices scolded. "Do you know what you leave behind?"_

_Harry thought, and suddenly he could remember. Hermione. Sirius. Teddy. Everyone. He felt ashamed that he had not remembered until now._

_"Has the Horcrux that was in me been destroyed?" he asked._

_"Yes."_

_"And the snake?"_

_"Destroyed," the voices sighed._

_He smirked. "You liked that ugly thing, didn't you?"_

"_Harry Potter, you are not afraid, are you?" The voices almost sounded suspicious._

_"Of you? Of this place? No."_

_"Most impressive," they said grudgingly. "Giving you the owl was not such a mistake, after all. Now, consider."_

_"What am I meant to consider? My family's grief? They will miss me, but they'll get past it."_

_The presence radiated displeasure. "So selfish, Harry Potter. Consider also: the enemy of your people has not been defeated. Will the sight of your body rally them to the fight, do you think? Or will they give up?"_

_It was a question of how many of them believed that thrice-damned prophecy, of course. Harry looked longingly at the white house, the open door that invited him to come in. He'd been happy there, before. He could be happy again._

_"There is the girl to consider. The Hermione Granger. You gave her The Power that once belonged here. Can she wield it?"_

_"I think she can."_

_"For how long, Harry Potter?" the voices asked slyly._

_He had no answer._

_"Can your Sirius Black cope with his grief when he has no family left? Will he travel here at his own hand? He will not find you in the after place, not if he chooses that course. Will your Remus Lupin be mad with grief? Will his son bear the brunt of all this? Do you have the answers, Harry Potter? Can you answer these questions?"_

_"No," he said softly. It was a denial of all they implied._

_"So selfish," they crooned._

_"There's only more blood and more pain waiting for me back there!" he shouted. "More proof that I'm not strong enough for The Power, for any power! I will hurt them!"_

_"You know this for certain? Or you only fear it because you are a selfish fool? Perhaps the owl was a grave mistake. It was not the right gift for you. It can be taken back, you know. All the knowledge you have gained can be taken."_

_"Don't," he panted. The presence was forcing his hand, and he didn't like it. What he really didn't like was how right the voices were, how much they spoke his worst fears. What would become of them all? Was it only selfishness? "I deserve to go inside," he whispered, looking at the door again. "I've done enough to deserve it."_

_"You have," the voices agreed. "Go inside, if you feel it is your right. Go, Harry Potter. We shall not stop you again."_

_"I want to die," he whispered. "I don't know how to be alive anymore."_

_The voices had gone. Only the presence remained._

_"What, no more advice? No more snide remarks?"_

_Only the presence. Only one witness to his decision. No one would know he had even made the choice, only the presence._

_"So much left to do," he sighed, thinking of Riddle. He wasn't defeated. It still wasn't over. It was close, but not there yet. And there was Hermione to consider, and Sirius, and Remus and Tonks and Teddy, and there was Draco, yet, who he'd promised to support after all this was over, and a wand to be steward over, and an old man's faith to uphold. He didn't want it, anymore. He'd said goodbye. It was done._

_But it wasn't. Not really. Not all the way._

_He'd promised Dumbledore, and he'd promised Sirius, and he'd made so many promises that he was too tired to keep, but he had his honour and the mist was in his eyes and the ground was coming closer again so that he couldn't see the door, the door to the house where home was . . ._

* * *

"No!"

But it was true. He was back. He was still alive. Fuck Riddle for his superstitious crap and needing his blood to create a body! Fuck Riddle altogether!

He saw the wand, the Elder Wand, in the hand of his grinning girlfriend. He was so, so proud of her, for the way she looked their enemy in the eye and laughed at his hubris. He was going to end this now. He surged up off the ground, snatched the wand, remembering to keep his centre of gravity low as he spun around.

"Stupefy!"

The spell deflected harmlessly off into the wall. Riddle, shrieking with fury, raised his wand to cast a spell of his own, and the duel began in earnest. There were cries of shock and fear and fury, but Harry ignored it all. He had the Elder Wand, and Riddle was just a man, only a man at last.

"I killed you!" Riddle was shouting at him. "I saw it happen!"

"Maybe you need glasses," Harry sneered.

The force of Riddle's spells was sending Harry backward, further down the hall away from the others. He was still feeling weak and strange after his time in the other place, and he needed a moment to wrap his head around the fact that he was alive. He was going to lose this duel if he tried to do it here, on these terms.

Harry broke and ran. He hoped Riddle would keep up.

* * *

Ernie and Parvati were down, seriously in need of medical attention. Minerva was limping badly and Melissa was on the verge of collapse. Grawp had been chased back into the Forest by some of the Death Eaters, Hagrid hot on their heels, and no one had seen the lot of them since. Terry Boot was dead, and his body had been pulled away to be laid beside Neil's until something could be done for them. Only three Death Eaters were left standing. They were moments from winning this fight.

Then Charlie Weasley's dolphin Patronus flashed before Bill and spoke urgently.

"They broke through our defenses in the Hog's Head. They're getting into the school. We need everyone inside as soon as possible."

Two of the three remaining Death Eaters ran for it, escaping toward Hogsmeade. Remus brought the last one to the ground by the simple expedient of levitating a rock and clunking him on the head with it. He was frozen and bound.

"The regular Ministry Aurors are beginning to arrive," Bill said. "Let's leave this to them and get inside."

They nodded. They were all sweating, battered, some bloody. They were exhausted. But there was more to do. Remus looked to his friends. Jeremy was sitting on the ground, holding Addison against him. They were looking at Neil. He went to stand beside them. He put a hand to the shoulder of each.

"It isn't time for that yet. We have work to do," he said gently.

They flinched away from him.

"Neil would tell you the same thing. Come, we've almost made it. Just a little more."

They nodded, but didn't seem to have the strength to get up. Remus squeezed his hands on their shoulders.

"Thank you. For standing by me. It's cost too much, I know, but thank you for being here."

They stood up, Jeremy gripping Remus' hand for a moment, and Addison leaning her head on his arm for a moment. Then the doors were flung open, and Arthur Weasley rushed forward to throw his arms around his son.

"I think we're going to win this thing!" he shouted. "It was very dicey for a moment. Did you know Harry Potter is an Animagus? Voldemort came striding in carrying this owl and saying he'd killed Harry, then Harry just popped into being and jumped up and started duelling him. Dear boy was faking it!"

"Is it over?" Remus gasped.

"Not yet," Arthur said, his face becoming more grim. "The two of them sort of ran off, shooting spells. There's still quite a battle going on inside."

"Then let's get to it!" Minerva snapped.

"I am not so tired yet," Fleur said demurely. She was the only one of them who could still look good after this, but even she was obviously lying.

Still, they trooped inside and joined the fray. Again. Remus reflected that it must be near dawn, by now. All the students who weren't fighting must have gotten home by now. He wondered if Dora had been able to go to sleep, or if she and Simon were pacing the house, waiting for him to return . . .

There was a wand at the back of his neck. He froze. He couldn't believe he was so exhausted and so distracted that he'd allowed that to happen.

"You are a friend of Potter's?" a silky female voice whispered in his ear.

"Yes," he murmured.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No," he said, hoping it was the right answer.

"Then you must deliver a message to him when you see him. It is from my husband, Antonin Dolohov."

Remus was no stranger to pain. Not at all. And yet even he had never felt this much pain before. It was so much that he could not even scream. Instead, he blacked out, and knew no more.

* * *

Harry ran through the castle, trying not to run so fast that his enemy couldn't find him again, but anxious to stay ahead of him until he figured out a plan. If he could come up with a quick distraction, the power of the wand should be able to overcome him . . . but it would have to be an amazing distraction . . .

He saw the body in the hall and tried not to look. It wasn't the only one in the school now. But the smoking blood that lay thickly on the floor of the corridor gave him pause, the lumpy, nauseating mess that was the body of Nagini the snake. He slowed down, saw Severus Snape.

"Oh, no," he whispered. He stopped, looked down, felt guilt beginning to swallow him up. "_You_ killed the snake? What have you done? How dare you die, you bastard? I was trying to get you out of this! "

He heard footsteps. He ran on, choking on the guilt. He should have done this sooner. It turned out that he'd never had to die, and there was never any reason to put this off, and now even Professor Snape was dead because of him. Did _everyone_ die because of him?

He didn't know that Hermione was following him. Nor did he know that Neville and Veronica had only just finished rounding up the students, and that Ron, Michael, and Hannah were following them now down to the entrance of the school to join in the last battle. He ran right into the five students as he was trying to maintain his lead over Riddle.

"Harry!" Neville shouted. "Harry, are you all right?"

"Riddle," he panted. "Hide."

It was too late. Riddle came sweeping around the corner, saw them all, and bellowed.

"Are you a coward, Harry? You still refuse to fight me?"

"Get behind me," Harry snapped.

They didn't look like they were going to obey him, but Harry's mind was otherwise occupied. Riddle's wand was pointing at them, and he was so focused on what he was about to do that Harry was able to _see_ it, like it was hanging in the air between them. Ice. He was going to freeze these people and shatter the ice and cast little frozen pieces of them all around Harry so Harry could die in horror. There wasn't a Warming charm strong enough to stop it all. Harry only saw it as it was being executed, as the spell that made the ice bloom was already shooting toward them. He didn't have a defense. Not one.

But these five students had saved the school. Over and over again, while Harry was hiding. They deserved his best effort. Harry had no magic to stop this. But he had to try.

Panicked, he threw out his hand. The frozen spear of spell was rushing up at them, howling as it came with the unearthly shriek of a blizzard wind, and Harry just held up his hand as though telling it to stop would make it so. And the sheer, raw panic of his need, speaking as it did through the Elder Wand, did something. Maybe it was how close he'd been to death, or maybe he was the only wizard on earth who remembered what it felt like to do accidental magic. All he knew was that the spell struck his hand and was absorbed into it. He gasped at the sensation of cold.

Riddle saw what he was doing, and even though it should have been amazing, it made him angry. Harry shouldn't be able to thwart him so easily. With a cruel grin, he kept his wand up, kept sending the spell. Harry kept his hand out, moaning at the cold, but it built and built and got more painful, and he didn't realize that he'd begun to scream.

"Mmmmmmmmm— aaaaahhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhAAAAAAHHHH!"

It _burned_, it was burning, it was horrible, it hurt in a way he'd never experienced and he was screaming with the burning pain as it sunk into his hand and disappeared. He didn't waver once, his entire mind focused on keeping these five from the grotesque death Riddle had imagined for them. But it _hurt_ until he couldn't think anymore.

"Stupefy!" Veronica cried out, and the red light shot crisply from her wand.

Riddle deflected it, but he had to cut off the massive power he was putting into the freezing spell. Harry fell to his knees, gasping. Ron and Michael were there, lifting him back up, but Harry shoved them away.

"Go!" he said hoarsely. "Get out of here, let me take him! I can do this! I can't be worried about all of you!"

Veronica went down with an awful cry as Riddle loosed a hex that snapped the tendons in her ankles.

"I'll stay with Harry," Neville growled. "Get her out of here." The two boys grabbed her up and took her off. Hannah looked uncertain, but Harry had begun duelling Riddle again and couldn't spare a thought for her. "Hannah," Neville said gently, cupping her face in his hands. She'd been a dear friend to him the past two years. "You can't face this man. Go."

With a nod, she did.

Neville joined Harry, and they sent spell upon spell at Riddle, but he knocked them all aside with vicious laughter.

"Have you nothing else?" he crowed. "Only those pure and wholesome little spells? Don't you know how to fight?"

They were leaping out of the way of Killing Curses. They had no shields to stop that spell, and Harry spun and ducked and leapt away from them, feeling a churning in his belly, knowing that Neville didn't have his reflexes, that any moment now—

"_Sectumsempra_!"

Riddle let loose a yelp of pain, and a little spot of blood blossomed on the leg of his pants. He turned around with a snarl of fury, but Hermione held her ground, her wand pointed at his scabbing face, her lips pursed together with fierce determination.

"_Expelli_—"

"_Avad_—"

"_Incarcerous_!" Harry screamed, and the spell bloomed from his wand so strongly that they had to turn their eyes away from the flare of light.

Ropes appeared and ensnared Riddle, sending him crashing to the floor and sending his Killing Curse well wide of Hermione. He twisted in the ropes and turned his wand to Harry. Another Killing Curse rocketed through the air, but Harry rolled forward and came up several feet closer to his enemy.

"Are you going to kill me, Harry?" Riddle asked in a laugh.

"No," Harry growled. "I took your immortality, Riddle, because you don't deserve it. And now you're going to go on trial, and go to Azkaban, and get fed three meals a day in a tiny cell, just like any other criminal. Just like them, Riddle. And you know why I'm doing it this way? Because I think that prophecy is bullshit, and I think I'd have left you alone if you'd done the same for me. I want you to suffer, because I just plain don't like you."

He screamed, tore at the ropes. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

It was only too easy to duck. Harry, Hermione, and Neville all surrounded the fallen enemy. All three of them shouted it at the same moment.

"_Stupefy_!"

The force of it made the floor beneath Riddle groan as his body was shoved downward.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Hermione said briskly, completing her spell and neatly snatching the wand.

"_Petrificus Totalus. Incarcerous_. Again, that is. Just in case. Oh, and _Confundus_, you arsehole. _Confundus_ again. Hope you wake up convinced you're a rubber duck." Harry said all this in a half-amused mutter. He cast a spell to blind Riddle, so he'd wake up in the dark. "Think he'd bleed to death if I hamstring him?" he asked.

"Unfortunately," Neville muttered.

"I don't think it would be that unfortunate," came another voice. All three of them spun around with their wands out, and were all equally surprised to see Draco Malfoy. He was dabbing at a split lip with back of his hand.

"That's . . . a lot of blood," Neville ventured.

Draco looked at his hand. "Not bad, really. I ran into Kimberly and Colin while they were keeping some of my old friends from joining the battle. I was forced to lend my assistance. To Kimberly and Colin, that is. I always thought Crabbe and Goyle were idiots."

"I meant on your clothes," Neville said, dumbfounded that Draco had joined the two Gryffindors against his own ex-roommates.

Draco looked down at his bloodstained shirt, and for a moment his face was wild. Then he straightened his posture and smoothed his face. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Is it yours?"

"In a way," Draco replied, sounding a little unhinged. "We did share it, after all."

Harry was beginning to understand, and he held up his hand to keep Neville from saying anything more. His right hand. His left, he cradled to his side, because it was purple and heavy and throbbing.

Riddle was beginning to stir. Harry kicked him in the side. "_Stupefy_."

He was limp again.

"You actually defeated him," Draco murmured.

"What are you doing here, Draco? Why did you come?"

"I . . . I guess I made a decision. And I had to make sure you lived, or it would have been pointless, wouldn't it?"

"There's one message you don't have to deliver," Harry said, sending a cracked smile to Hermione. But his face was crumbling. "Draco . . . the blood . . . your father . . .?"

Draco dropped bonelessly to sit on the floor. He didn't speak.

"Just one more thing that's my responsibility," Harry whispered. "Just one more horrible thing that came about because of me."

"Don't say that, Harry," Hermione said, reaching for him.

"Why do people keep dying?" Harry shouted. "Everything I touch, I destroy! Everything! I ruined what was between us, too, Hermione, with the way I've been breaking into your mind—and I know I'll only do it over and over again, because it's so _easy_! I didn't _want_ to be here! I wanted to move on, to go to the other place! They said I could go, but they kept reminding me of all the things that were still here and making me feel guilty. I think I _exist_ to feel guilty! Look at all the people who died tonight! For me! They don't know what I've done, do they? The Unforgiveables, the way I sneak into people's minds . . . I use Dark spells, just because I can, and I'll only use them again."

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. "I can't do this. Oh, god," he groaned. "Interviews, reporters, just . . . just everyone. Wanting to know how it happened, wanting five minutes with the hero. I'm not a hero. I'm going just as Dark as he did, and I don't . . . I wanted to leave while I was still _sane_, but I stayed to finish this, and now I can't . . . I just . . . I'm going _crazy_, Hermione. I saw the angel of death or something, but it was in Brazil. And now I'm alive again, and I _hate_ it." He was panting for breath, sick and dizzy and unable to force his thoughts into cohesion. "I'm going to destroy everything if I stay. I can't stay. I can't. I have to go. Before anyone sees me here and tries to stop me. I have to . . . I'm alive, I have to deal with it. Somehow. I have to start over. I can't be me. Not now. I have to go away. I have to cope, but I have to start over to do that."

None of this made enough sense, but Harry wasn't sure he _could_ make sense to himself anymore. All that relief he'd felt at his death had been stripped from him. The idea of trying to rebuild after the mess he'd made, all while standing in front of a camera and being hailed as a hero . . . it made him sick. With a groan, he cast a _Muffliato_ spell around himself and Hermione.

"The Elder Wand is mine," he said distinctly. "I retain ownership of it." He pressed it into her hand. "I want you to take it and hide it. Somewhere I will never, ever find it. After you hide it, go to Sirius and make him erase your memory of doing so, so that nobody can find it. Not ever, you hear me? I can't know where it is. The things I could do with it . . . I can't know."

"Harry . . ."

"Take it, before I don't know how to give it up anymore," he whispered. He dropped his forehead against hers, squeezing his eyes shut. "I love you, Hermione. Forever. But . . . but don't wait for me. I don't know where I'm going or if I'll be back. I love you. Just go on without me."

She still held his other wand, the nice and normal one he'd gotten at Ollivander's. Harry took that one, and left the Elder Wand. He broke the silencing spell, and then he ran.

They watched him go, confused and stunned. Hermione began to sob, and Neville put his arms around her, staring with burning eyes at Harry's fleeing back.

"He's just— going?" Draco choked out.

Riddle moaned, and Draco turned to him with fear. The other two didn't seem to notice, too confused by Harry's retreat. Riddle's eyes opened, and the two of them locked their gazes. Riddle had broken free of some of the spells laid on him, while they were watching Harry's mental disintegration. He still had ropes around him, but he was beginning to work on those. He stared at Draco.

"You are one of mine," Riddle rasped. "You, Draco Malfoy. You bear my mark. You promised me your service, just as your father did. You are bound to me, my servant. Give me your wand, now."

"My wand?" Draco asked in a small voice.

"Did you think you could ever be free of me? I am your master, by the Mark you bear. You cannot run from your master, Draco. I will be gracious to you, because your father is such a trusted servant. I will not punish you. But you must give me your wand."

Draco stood up. He snorted indelicately. "You're full of shit, you know that? I don't _have_ a master. Your little tattoo was a mistake, and nothing more."

"So you say, but where is the new one you have pledged your loyalty to?"

"I didn't pledge anything to anyone. But I did start thinking that an argument's merits are better decided without killing children. You're a creep, Riddle, but you're a creep who's tied up on the floor. It's over. Give it up."

Riddle snarled and grabbed at Draco's legs. "Your wand!"

Neville let go of Hermione and walked over to the altercation. He stared down at Riddle. Then, quite calmly, he lifted his foot and slammed it into the torn-up face. He wasn't stupid. He was aware that driving his heel with all his might into a man's nose could kill him. But he'd spent half his life believing he was supposed to kill this man. And it seemed obvious that the man deserved it. He would never stop. Not even now. He was too powerful to leave to chance or even to the Wizengamot. There was only one way to end this.

So he brought his foot down, and then again, and then a third time, and he felt bones crunching. He finally took a step back, his face dispassionate.

"There," he said finally. "Now it's over."

* * *

The Battle of Hogwarts had ended in one moment. All at once, the Death Eaters had cried out, grabbed their arms, and suddenly stopped fighting. Hermione, Draco, and Neville had brought Riddle's body into the Great Hall as soon as Hermione had finished repairing a few of the broken bones in his face and created several gashes on the body so that it would look like he'd died from bleeding out. It wasn't very heroic to have stamped in someone's face, and none of them thought the world could handle the truth of what had happened in that corridor.

Once the body had been placed where his followers could see it, they'd all surrendered. The ones who were left, anyway. Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange were dead, as were a number of people of lesser importance who were dead nonetheless. They'd lost a few Aurors, too, including the venerable Moody. He'd just been too old to fight for so long, and he'd fallen because he was tired and making mistakes.

None of that was important to Sirius right now. He grabbed Hermione almost before she had moved away from the body.

"Where's Harry?"

She sighed, closing her eyes.

"Is he dead?"

"No, he isn't," she whispered. "Sirius, listen to me. Harry is safe, but he is not here. I will answer your questions, I promise. But I have something to take care of first. I will be back here in half an hour. When I return, I want you to erase all of my memories from now until I come back. Can you do that?"

"What?"

"Can you do it?"

"Yes, but why?"

"I won't explain, Sirius. Harry asked me to do this. I'll be back. Then we'll talk."

Hermione walked away. Sirius watched her go, thinking that it looked like she was floating on a breeze. Nothing seemed to affect her, now. She was gliding. Like a ghost.

* * *

Hermione followed a path she knew, outside the school, down to the lake. The sky was gray and tinged with the pink of dawn. It had lasted all night. She felt a bone-deep weariness, and she knew her mind needed to shut down for a while. She almost wept, not at remembering what had happened in the hall, but simply at knowing she still had to face Sirius and explain to him before she could sleep.

She arrived at the lake, shivering from the cold air, her clothes feeling damp and sticky. Frost coated each blade of grass with a delicate winter dressing. It was beautiful. But she didn't see any of it. She simply got on her knees beside a tree with an overhanging branch. She touched her wand to the water and tried to stay awake while she waited.

"I'm so tired," she murmured.

Then she saw a flash in the water. A head broke the surface, an arm shot up and grasped the low branch. A curious, green-tinged face stared at her.

"Are you Reed?"

"I am."

"I am Hermione Granger. Has Harry spoken of me?"

Reed blinked solemnly. "Yes." His voice had a sibilant quality. "His love."

"Yes. I must ask you for something, Reed. On Harry's behalf."

"Harry is capable of coming here to ask his own favours," Reed frowned.

Hermione hung her head. She didn't have the strength to argue. "Reed, Harry has to go away for a little while."

"Is the war lost?"

"No, it is finished. Harry won. But sir . . . he is broken. He had to go away."

"He should have come to us," Reed frowned. "We would have let him stay with us."

"I think he wants to go away from anything magical," Hermione said softly. "But most especially this magical object." She held out the wand on her palms. "Do you know what this is?"

"It's a wand," he said, affronted. "I am a merman, I am not stupid!"

"No, I didn't mean to imply that. I meant, do you know of this wand?"

"How could I?"

"Forgive me," she said, blinking heavily. "I'm not thinking straight. This wand is very dangerous, especially for Harry. He asked me to hide it from him. He craves this wand, and he knows he shouldn't have it. That's why I brought it to you, Reed. I know that the merpeople have no desire for wands. Harry has spoken about you to me often. I know that you are chosen among your people to carry a lot of secrets. Reed . . . is Harry important enough to you for this? Would you carry another secret, for his sake?"

Reed was somber. He stared at the wand in her hands for a long time. "Harry is one of my people, now. We share everything with him. This is for his sake?"

"I could think of no one better to hold this. I feared it wouldn't be enough to simply hide it—it could be found. I wanted it hidden by someone who understands how important secrets are. From what I know, through Harry, I know you are that person."

Reed squinted at her. "You call me a person?"

"Shouldn't I?" she said in confusion.

"Your kind usually call me a fish."

She scowled. "Small-minded jerks might, but I wouldn't."

Reed smiled for a moment. Then he bowed his head. "Yes, Lady Granger. I will hold your secret." He took the wand from her hand. "We have an accord. You will not see me again."

"You and Harry," she sighed.

He shook his head. "You think too much like a human. It does not matter if he is away for a long time, or even if you do not see him again. He is still a part of you. Your mind is different because you have shared it with his. You ought to rejoice in having known him."

She was beginning to see the appeal that the merpeople had for Harry, the reason he'd gone to them at Dumbledore's funeral, but she was too tired to internalize what he was saying. "I'm sorry to give you such a burden."

"I have many, lady. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

It was a struggle to get up again, once Reed had gone. But she did get up, and she went back to the castle, and she found Sirius again. He was pacing at the door of the castle. He looked up when he saw her, brightening for a moment.

"Finally," he sighed. "I have to go, have to get to the hospital to be there with Tonks, it's Remus, he's badly injured—"

"Fine. But my memory first."

She submitted to his wand without complaint. It was a mark of how much he trusted her, her and Harry, that he stole the memory without question. When it was over, she stood in front of him with her eyes glazed. She was too tired to recover without help.

"Hermione, Remus has been wounded, and I have to go to the hospital to be with Tonks. Will you come with me, and tell me where Harry is?"

She fell forward against him. Startled, he was afraid he'd done something wrong when he'd Obliviated her, and almost panicked. He caught her, held her up, and realized she was crying on him.

"Hermione? What's happened?"

"He's gone, Sirius. He said he couldn't cope. It was all so jumbled. He said he was losing his mind, and he couldn't deal with being alive. He had so much guilt, and he kept saying he was going Dark. He just . . . ran away. He said he might never come back."

Sirius brushed his hand through her hair.

"You shouldn't come with me. You need to go rest. Go back to my house, okay? Just rest for a while. We'll talk later."

Sirius was certain that Harry had retreated for the day, to stay away while they were cleaning up, dealing with the aftermath. He knew Harry would have a hard time seeing the injured, the dead. He'd feel like it was his fault. But he didn't yet think that Harry would really stay away. He thought Harry would be back at Grimmauld Place by nightfall. So he made Remus and Tonks his priority, and went to St. Mungo's to sit with his cousin while Remus was being treated.

Tonks had Teddy asleep in a sling over her chest, with Simon dozing fitfully at her side. Tonks explained the situation in a broken, tiny voice. Remus had lain there for over two hours before he'd been brought to the hospital. They still didn't know if he'd live. It seemed someone had blasted apart his legs. It was horrific. The three of them huddled together and waited.

They waited for a long time.

Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place, where Jeremy, Addison, and Draco had already retreated. Draco was afraid to face his mother, so he didn't want to go back to the Tonks house. The four of them were waiting, too.

* * *

_Three weeks later . . ._

Hermione had, rather miraculously, found the time to study today. She was grateful for the escape back into some kind of comfortable reality, since the amount of time she spent studying had decreased significantly over the past several weeks since the battle. There had been too many other things to do—many of them revolving around the aftermath of what they'd termed "The Battle of Hogwarts." This was inaccurate, to Hermione. She'd quite vocally expressed her opinion that they ought to at least call it the Battle _for_ Hogwarts, if they couldn't come up with any more creative way to pay tribute to the residents of Hogsmeade and to Tonks and Simon, who'd had to fight off the Death Eaters who followed the students to Grimmauld Place while everyone was distracted with Harry's "death." Everything in the last weeks had something to do with the battle, and the time had passed in limping steps punctuated by bouts of wild grief.

Today, Hermione had something resembling a reprieve. She had taken up Dora's idea of putting Teddy in a sling, and she was sitting at the kitchen table with books spread over it and Teddy snuggled up asleep against her chest. She had volunteered to care for Teddy today as much as possible. Dora had been coming back to the house periodically to feed the baby, but her presence had been required at several Death Eater trials this morning, and she was going to St. Mungo's immediately afterward to see Remus.

Hermione, not needed as a witness in these particular trials (though she'd seen her fair share of them over the past weeks), was doing her studying in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place because she had a plate of food to give to Draco when he returned from the trials, and she planned to sit here and make sure he ate it.

He had stunned everyone in magical Britain, including her, on the night of the battle and every day since. He had treated an enormous number of students, and had joined forces with Kimberly and Colin to fight off a round dozen upper-level students who'd chosen Riddle's side. He had willingly submitted himself to the Wizengamot and undergone the very first of the Death Eater trials, simply as a show of good faith. He'd combined his sardonic humour and graceful posture with a shocking attitude of humility, submitting to Veritaserum and enduring his memories being viewed by the entire magical community. Then he'd attended almost every single Death Eater trial that followed, taking the witness seat against any person he had personal experience with.

Hermione was the only one who could see that the whole thing was killing him slowly. He showed up to every trial just a little thinner and a little more pale and ill-looking. No one else seemed to notice, too dazzled by his confidence in his own penitence and his self-effacing smile and the strange glamour of his tragic story.

Sirius came into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, carrying the newspaper. Hermione had already been working on her Charms studies for two hours, so she got up and insisted on making it for him. He sat down and let her. She'd been volunteering to do everything around here, whenever she wasn't getting her mind picked at by the Ministry.

"I could hold Teddy," he offered.

Hermione had filled the kettle with her wand, but she set it down on the stove to heat. She turned with a soft smile.

"He's okay where he is."

Sirius had a small smile in reply, his eyes fixed on Teddy's sleeping face cuddled against her shoulder. His godson's fuzzy brown hair was a soft turquoise at the edges, when you squinted. It meant that he was comfortable, and with someone he liked. Sirius left well enough alone, and he picked up one of her Charms texts rather than his newspaper while she got the tea from the cupboard. He was tired of being caught up in what was happening in the rest of the world—which was why he'd released Neville from the duties of Secret-Keeper to Grimmauld Place, and taken them up himself. There was no need to hide this location anymore, except the peace of mind of its inhabitants. It was so celebratory out there. The occupants of Number Twelve were feeling anything but celebratory.

"You didn't have to go to the trials today?" Sirius asked.

"No. You, either?"

"They're already going into overkill with the evidence, they don't need me."

"I'm not about to complain about Ministry going overboard when it comes to these trials."

Sirius had a bitter grin for that. The Wizengamot, eager to soothe public opinion, had brutally eradicated Dark influence from its own people, and borne down hard on the perpetrators of the war. The Carrows had gotten it especially bad, since their crimes were against children. They were never getting out of Azkaban. And Rabastan Lestrange, the only member of his family to survive the final battle, had been given the death penalty last week and had been executed yesterday. No one was particularly sorry to see it.

"At least one good thing has come out of their zealousness in collecting evidence," Hermione mused.

"What's that?"

"That statement issued about Professor Snape."

Some of the key witnesses in these trials were children, and the Ministry had been quick to discover that many memories of the school year had been tampered with. Some students had multiple mental tangles to unravel, and it had taken two weeks with a full-time staff to sort out what had happened. They had found over twenty instances in which Snape had intervened in discipline, taking the student out of the Carrow's hands, and had modified their memory to make them believe they had been punished when he had in reality done nothing but save them. There were even a few cases discovered in which Snape had treated their injuries and erased it from their minds. He had done a shoddy job of the memory modifications so that they could be discovered later, no doubt, in case he survived the war and needed to prove his allegiances. But most people didn't know how skilled he was in mental arts, and it was assumed he had done his best to cover his tracks, and he was being hailed as a darkly tragic hero.

And he deserved it, in Hermione's opinion. She had a slightly skewed opinion of the man, since it was he who had found her when she'd been raped, and whose single snide comment about it had been a deciding factor in Krum's being banned from the country. But after learning the truth about Dumbledore's death that last day before the battle and Harry's disappearance, she had finally understood what a repulsive set of choices he'd had to make She thought he deserved better than a press statement after his death.

"Did you see the article today about Draco?" Sirius asked, gesturing at the paper.

"Is it another one of those sickening things about him being so polite and humble?"

"No," Sirius said, feeling a bit grim. "It's about how much he's been keeping from us. You'd think he'd maybe talk to the people he lives with or something."

Hermione, cautiously keeping Teddy steady, reached out for the paper. "He got the estate? I didn't even know he'd been disputing the will!"

"As far as I can tell, he wasn't. But his father left everything to his distant cousin, who was also killed in the battle, and Draco was the only logical heir. It's only taken this long because the people at the Minsitry were arguing about whether or not he could have it."

"Like it's any of their business," Hermione snorted.

"Mmm."

They read quietly, drinking tea and listening to the smacking sounds Teddy made when he slept. Hermione changed his nappy once, and then the two of them retired to the study for further literary pursuits. They'd done quite a bit of that, lately. It was too difficult to talk about Harry, they were heartily sick of talking about the war, but the two of them were bound together by the missing young man and so felt the need of one another's company sometimes.

"Tonks went to the hospital, didn't she?" Sirius asked after quite a while.

"Yes."

"So shouldn't Draco have been back here long since?"

"Likely got bullied into another press interview," Hermione murmured.

"He'd have weasled his way out of it, by now," Sirius said with a frown.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she unconsciously put an arm around Teddy. "You're not worried he's in trouble, are you? He's already been pardoned!"

"I was a little more concerned with the Death Eaters that haven't been arrested yet. I think I'd better go to the Ministry and see if he's still there."

Hermione nodded, her eyes wide. She hadn't even thought . . . no wonder he looked like he hadn't been getting any sleep! She had been reserving her anxiety for the news about Remus when Dora got back—it had been the full moon two nights ago, and the Healers would have a verdict about just how badly it had set back his progress—but now she felt her anxiety include Draco. If someone had taken him to get revenge, he could already be dead by now.

The fireplace whooshed, and then there he was, with Dora's hand tucked into his elbow. She wore a look of complete exhaustion, while he was unreadable.

"Merlin, I was about to go look for you!" Sirius snapped at Draco, but then he took Dora's arm and guided her to a seat. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. She was on the verge of crying, but hadn't succumbed yet. Hermione turned to Draco.

"Will you untie this sling?"

He made short work of it, and then Hermione could give Dora's son to her. She took him with a soft cry and held him tight. Hermione thought she could use a moment with just Sirius, since she seemed more comfortable showing weakness in front of him than anyone else. She tugged Draco to the kitchen. She almost felt guilty for leaving Sirius alone to comfort Dora—it wasn't as though the last three weeks were any less horrible for him. But he'd been strong enough to hold together so far.

"Sit down," she commanded Draco. Once he was seated, she took out the plate she'd made for him—it was simple stuff, cheese and crackers and fruit, but it was something he could pick at and not notice how much he was eating. "So . . . congratulations, I suppose. I saw the article that said you'd been granted the Malfoy estate."

He winced away from the words. "I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

"Are you and your mother going to move back into your house?" she asked, thinking that if it were her house, she'd burn it to the ground.

"My mother's business is her own. We're not on speaking terms, as you know."

"So you won't let her go back . . ."

"Oh, I'm giving her the house, all right. It's me that won't live there. I'm going to find my own place. Immediately."

Hermione knew that it would be a very bad thing for Draco to be by himself right now, but she tried to pick her words carefully. "Christmas is next week. You can't be alone for the holiday, you have to stay here at least until the new year."

Draco grimaced at her. "Because everyone enjoys my company so much?"

"Because we care about you," she said firmly.

He scoffed at that. "Since when were we such great friends?" he asked bitterly. "I might have chosen your side of the war, but I'm not exactly going round protesting for Muggleborn civil rights. I've been horrible to you for years. Don't think we're all cosy now just because we both live here—I'm only here because the idea of living with my mother, who hates me, makes me want to dash my head against a wall." He stood up from the table.

"You didn't even touch your food," she protested. "You might not think anyone cares about you, but I have managed to notice that you've hardly eaten in weeks!"

"What are you doing, following me around the house?"

"You might not have noticed, but I've been preparing most of the meals around here, and it's hard to slip your untouched plate past the cook!" she retorted.

"Leave me alone, Hermione. I deal with enough bullshit out there, I'd like to have one place in the world where nobody bothers me!"

"Fine," she snapped, but she grabbed the capped bottle she'd placed on the counter and thrust it at him. "But you have to at least take this."

With a frown, he uncapped it and sniffed. "Is this a sleeping potion? Did you brew this? I knew someone had been mucking about in my lab!"

"I know you aren't sleeping, either," she said.

He shot her a glare. "You only know that because I'm not the only one coming downstairs in the middle of the night."

Hermione should have known she'd only get into a fight with him, but she was tired of it and she was genuinely concerned for him. She just stopped, turning away a little, and deciding that a little honesty and vulnerability might help. Draco was probably feeling a little ganged up on. And she really wished there was someone who would understand her nocturnal wanderings.

"I can't help it," she said quietly. "I keep thinking he'll try to sneak in while we're all asleep and surprise us in the morning."

The old Draco would have sneered at that and told her she was stupid. But he was even more wrung out than she was, so he just shook his head. "You remember what he was like, that night. I don't think he's coming back."

Yes, she had held a faint hope that Harry would pop back up after a day or two and say he'd just needed some time to think. But she knew better. She'd been there to see the unfocused eyes, the way he'd stammered incoherently—and her Harry had always been so articulate, so focused, that it had frightened her and she'd let him run. She knew, deep down, that if he did return, it would not be soon. And that realisation crashed down and overwhelmed her, every time she thought about it, so she turned away from Draco and left the kitchen, with her last words being, "Please take that and get some sleep so I have one less thing to worry about."

She went back to the study and found Sirius holding Dora while she cried. It seemed that any hope of a full recovery that Remus had was destroyed by his transformation during the full moon. His legs had been growing back after the curse that had blasted them to pieces, but the violent nature of his transformation had ruined their usefulness to him. He was due to be released in two days, but he'd be coming home in a wheelchair. He was so depressed by it that he'd barely responded to Dora's presence at the hospital.

Hermione experienced an intensely guilty moment in which she was glad that Harry had not returned. If he knew that Lydia Dolohov had done this, he'd realise that he had been the cause, and it would heap even more guilt on his overburdened conscience. (Hermione's flash of gratefulness that fretted her so much was, in fact, entirely false in reality, because Harry had heard about what had happened to Remus before he'd managed to make it out of the country. This burden, too, lay heavy on him.)

Hermione fetched a cup of tea for Dora from the kitchen, and took over the job of soothing her for a few minutes so that Sirius could have a few moments for his own grief. He gladly took it, and went into the sparring room down the hall to try to work it out of his system. She was firm in her belief that Remus would have a better recovery than expected, and also that the couple was strong enough to get through it, no matter what.

"Besides," she said, putting her hand out to Teddy and being rewarded by his little hand grabbing hold of her, "this little one will need you. Both of you. As soon as Remus is well enough, he ought to spend some time alone with Teddy."

Dora closed her eyes, weary. "He'll probably refuse to do it."

"Make him do it," Hermione urged her. "Teddy is his son, and they need each other."

"I need him," she whispered, trying not to break down again.

"Don't forget how many people you have to support you," Hermione said, putting her arm around the woman who was still too young for all of this. "We're all here, and we all love you, and we want to help however we can."

"Thank you," Dora said, but it sounded too tired to be entirely sincere.

Hermione left her alone so she could feed Teddy and draw strength from caring for her son. She started making dinner, and soon Jeremy and Addison came home and helped. The two of them had lost a great deal, but they had seemed to cope better than the rest of the household. They had shown signs of retreating into grief, when it looked like losing Neil would be the last straw, but Hermione had discovered a miracle in that situation. Sirius had been caught up in searching for Harry, then in convincing the Ministry to give up its search for Harry, and he'd been grieving and angry and attending the majority of the trials. Dora had been busy, Draco had been busy, and Hermione was afraid Simon would shatter into pieces if pushed. So she'd been trying to care for them all, cooking and washing and shopping and all the normal things, but it was too much for just one person. She'd admitted to Addison that she needed help. Addison and Jeremy had jumped in to do what they could, and somehow the chores of the house (or perhaps just the feeling that they were doing something for the people they still had left to care for) had allowed them to pull themselves through their pain.

The three of them got a meal on the table, which was, as usual, only picked at. Simon didn't come down at all, and neither did Draco. Hermione was rather hoping it was because Draco had drunk her potion and would be asleep until tomorrow morning, but she knew someone ought to look in on Simon. Dora was too shattered by the news about Remus, she judged, so she made up a plate of pot roast and fresh bread, and brought it up to his room. She knocked, and he opened the door with his wand, not even bothering to get up.

"Hello," she said quietly, coming into the room and taking in the piles of clothes and dim lighting. He was sitting at his window, staring out at the dismal sky. He'd been doing a great deal of that.

"What?" he grunted.

"I brought you something to eat," she said.

He finally turned around. "You did?"

She handed him the plate, and let her hand linger on his shoulder for a moment. "We didn't want to force you to come down, but I knew you'd be hungry. Simon . . . You really need to come out of this room."

He glared at her. "If you're even thinking about trying to analyze my emotional state or something . . ."

"No, nothing like that. I'm thinking more about Dora."

Simon's face was shuttered. "It was bad news?"

He'd been going to the hospital with her to visit Remus every day, but he had simply not come out of his room to volunteer this time. He hadn't wanted to be there when the Healers told them the verdict.

Hermione explained it to him, and suddenly he was out of his chair and forcing her from the room with anger twisting his face.

"Just go away!" he shouted, and slammed the door in her face.

She wasn't really surprised, and she recovered with dignity. She turned to go back downstairs, but she heard a moan from the bathroom, and she frowned. She knocked on the door.

"Are you okay?"

"Merlin, Hermione, I thought I said I wanted to be left alone."

It was Draco. That settled it, in her mind. She took out her wand and unlocked the door and went in without an invitation. She found him kneeling over the toilet, looking even more wretched than he had downstairs.

"Are you sick?"

"What would it take to make you go away?" he moaned.

She took in a few of the things on the countertop. "Have you been wearing _makeup_?"

He was too miserable to even glare at her. "I can't show up in court looking quite this much like death warmed over. Tragic and pale is okay, haggard is not."

He looked worse than haggard. Without the makeup, she could tell just how little sleep he'd been getting, and just how starkly the bones in his face were standing out. It was worse than he'd looked last spring. Not only that, but his skin was dry and off-colour. He was really ill, she realised. He was kneeling here in the bathroom with his lank hair hanging over his sweaty face, and he was too weak to stand up and chase her out.

"How long have you been feeling sick?" she asked him sternly.

"About three weeks," he whispered.

Hermione finally caught sight of what was in the toilet. It was _blood_. "What is going on, Draco Malfoy?"

He pushed himself away from the mess and leaned his back against the wall. "I've been throwing up several times every day since the battle. It's only been blood the last couple of days."

"Why?" she said, aghast.

He shrugged. "The Healer who tied me to a chair to examine me today says it was likely brought on by my mental state, but I've made myself ill enough that I can't stop it without medical help. Apparently I've developed at least one ulcer. Also strained some muscles in my abdomen, which bloody hurts, I can tell you."

"What did they give you to help?"

"Nothing. I ran off as soon as I could get free. I didn't _ask_ for an exam. Somebody grabbed me when I escorted Dora to the hospital."

"That's where you were today?"

"I didn't think she ought to go by herself."

"Draco, you can't just refuse to be treated. You're really sick!"

"I know," he muttered, and he closed his eyes, resting his head on the wall.

"You need to let this Healer help you."

"I know."

"It's bad enough that you refuse to eat and sleep—"

"I know, I know, I know, I _know_," he growled.

"You have to let _somebody_ help you!"

"Since when do I deserve help?"

"What? Don't be ridiculous, of course you do."

"Go away. Please. Just go away."

Hermione finally figured out that scolding him wasn't going to work. She slowly lowered herself to the floor to sit beside him. She was quiet for a moment. She took a deep breath and tried to choose her words carefully.

"This can't go on," she said at last. "You'll be in the hospital as a patient soon enough, and I don't know when I'd find time to catch up on schoolwork if I had to visit you _and_ Remus all the time."

"How is it not getting into your head that you have every reason to hate me?"

"Probably just the way it doesn't seem to sink into your thick skull that I don't care. You can't sit here and feel sorry for yourself, thinking you're alone. You're not. We made this house into a safe place for family, and you wouldn't be here if you didn't fit into that. You're not some project of Harry's, Draco. You live here."

Draco didn't seem to know how to respond to that. He just reached out and flushed the toilet. Hermione gasped and grabbed hold of his arm.

"What have you done to yourself?" she demanded, drawing up the sleeve.

He looked down at his arm, and his eyes slid away to the shower. "I was just . . . washing up." The skin on his left arm was rubbed so raw that it had caused the bloodstain she'd seen on his sleeve. It was obvious that he'd done it before—much of the skin around the Dark Mark was scabbed or pink. "It's taking a long time to clean," he whispered.

She got up and dug into the bathroom cabinet for some gauze and tape, and silently wrapped up his arm. Then she sat beside him on the floor for several minutes, content with sitting in silence simply to prove that even in this, he didn't have to be alone. It was uncomfortable for him, obviously. He fidgeted and wouldn't look at her. But he was, at least, out of arguments. For now.

After a while, he stood up.

"I've had more sentimentality than I can take, Granger. If you insist on being in the same room as me, we could at least be studying or something."

She grinned and followed him downstairs.

Things remained quiet and desperate in the house until Remus came home two days later. Due to the situation, they'd made the parlour into a bedroom for the Lupins, but being on the upper floor did not make it any harder for the residents of Grimmauld Place to hear Dora shouting and cursing and to notice that Remus never said anything at all. He didn't want to hold Teddy. He hardly ever came out of the bedroom. Not even for Sirius, who pleaded with him for the sake of a nearly thirty-year friendship. Sirius and Simon spent a lot of time that week in the sparring room and treating the rest of the house to silence almost as much as Remus did. Jeremy and Addison were trying to pretend nothing was wrong, but it was so obvious as to be painful.

It was only Hermione, always Hermione, who was there with a quick embrace or a few minutes of light-hearted chatter or simply her presence. She started staying in Simon's room while he ate the food she brought him, not saying anything, just watching the stormy skies with him. She continued to read the newspaper with Sirius, filling in the gap that her boyfriend had left behind as best she could. She took care of Teddy whenever Dora showed signs of the strain becoming too much. And it was Hermione who unceremoniously marched into the Lupin's room and pushed Teddy into Remus' lap on Christmas Eve.

"I can't—" he protested, but it was too late to do anything but take the baby or let him fall to the floor. "Hermione, what are you . . .?"

"That's your son," she said gently. "Don't you remember what we talked about, when he was born?" She wasn't angry. She was smiling softly. "Or maybe you don't, I'd spiked your tea pretty heavily."

He shook his head in despair, but he was drawing his son in close, pressing his face into Teddy almost in spite of himself.

"I told you that your love was the only thing that was going to matter to him. That he had to be able to come to you, no matter what."

Teddy's hair was turning turquoise as he patted his chubby hands over Remus' agonized face. He was happy.

"Dora went to the store," Hermione said casually. "She'll be out for a bit, and I have a couple of things to do. I'll be upstairs, just yell if you need anything." She hurried out of the room before Remus could give Teddy back. Draco's depression, she could sort of handle. He still had enough spirit to fight with her. Remus was another matter, sunk so deeply into despair that she didn't think she was capable of helping.

And yet . . . Remus was holding Teddy when they sat down at the table the next day for Christmas dinner. Everyone had pitched in to decorate the dining room or cook the meal, taking Hermione's authoritative directions with a quiet acquiesence that made her want to scream. It was one of the most depressing holiday meals on record. Outside, the world was celebrating freedom. Inside the house, they were in full retreat, unable to relate to the giddy newspaper headlines and crowds of holiday shoppers. Hermione was a light in a dark place, humming a carol as she basted the turkey and laughing when she fixed a red bow in Sirius' ponytail. But when they sat down at the table, it was hard to pretend they were enjoying the meal.

It was Sirius who broke the silence and destroyed the fragile barriers they'd constructed around themselves to protect them from one another. He did it because he saw Hermione wilting, and he didn't think it was fair to ruin her hard work. Not when she missed Harry as badly as he did, and kept smiling in spite of it.

"I think we all need to talk."

They all just looked at him.

"We've been acting as though it's helping, to say nothing. But really, we all know that none of us is all right. So let's just get it off our chest. It might help. Honestly, nothing else seems to, so we've got to try."

They shrugged. It was a shrug that said, "you first."

Sirius didn't speak right away, but he looked at them all in turn. Then he dropped his head into his hands. "I feel like I'm on the brink of screaming madness. I really do. I can't stop worrying about Harry, or worrying about all of us. I am actually driving myself mad. I can't handle this anymore."

Remus was the next to speak. He stared down at Teddy, who was cradled in hands that were laced with old scars. "I haven't made it a secret that I think Dora should leave me. I haven't been this close to suicide since I was thirteen."

Sirius shuddered, the only one of them who knew what that meant.

"I'm feeling extremely frustrated," Tonks said. "Especially with my husband, who doesn't seem to believe that I still love him. I'm also dealing with a baby who wakes up every few hours and I never get enough sleep. I'm ready to run away. I would have, if I didn't love my husband and my son so much."

It was Draco's turn, and he only spoke because Hermione was glaring at him. "I had a Healer tell me that I was going to die if I didn't seek help for the chronic nausea I've had for the last three weeks. I am really, really tired of throwing up, although not as tired as I am of talking to the Wizengamot. Having the Dark Mark on your arm sucks, in case anyone wondered. Oh, plus I let my father fucking bleed to death in front of me. And wound up spending Christmas with his worst enemies, which somehow makes me happier than spending it with my mother. To sum it all up, I'm feeling rather bitter." Surprised that he'd said so much, he scowled down at his plate.

"I just feel sad," Addison said softly. "We've lost so much. I miss our friends. Neil especially, but Yorick and George and everyone else, too. I know I should feel happy that I'm still here, but it's hard."

Jeremy simply grunted in agreement.

Simon, like Sirius, hid his face. It was the only way he could speak at all, after the silence he'd maintained for so long. But he knew that if he didn't talk now, he never would, and that frightened him so much that he forced the words out. "I feel like shit," he muttered. "I feel so guilty. Because Neil would be alive and Remus wouldn't be hurt if I hadn't—" He broke off, and left his face in his hands.

Hermione slowly stood up. She looked down at them all with a face that was soft with compassion and caring. They were transfixed by her. She was almost glowing.

"I feel . . . proud," she said. "We are still here, and we are still trying. We haven't given up yet. And we haven't pushed each other so far away that we can't help each other. We're still here to share dinner, talking and trying to work things out no matter how wrong they are. I am proud of us."

They stared at her, and no one knew what to say. It was easy to say what was wrong, so much harder to admit that something might be right. Then an owl scratched at the window, and for a moment, they all caught their breath. But it was a tiny gray owl, and the breath was released with (yet more) disappointment. Hermione opened the window, let the owl in. She fed it a scrap of turkey while she took the parchment on its leg. They expected it to be the Ministry, requesting their presence at yet another meeting of some kind. But her face was disbelieving and her lips were trembling.

"It's for you," she said to Sirius. "It's from Harry."

Sirius snatched it from her. He scanned it for a moment, then saw them all tense and waiting. He didn't want to share it, not yet, but they needed it as much as he did. He began to read aloud.

"Sirius— I don't remember how to just make conversation, and I don't want you to know where I am or what I'm doing, so I'll come straight to the point. I'm very sorry for leaving, but I didn't have a choice. I don't feel safe around people right now. I'm really unstable. I don't know how long it will take me to be right again. I hope I will be okay, someday. But I can't promise I'll be back. All I can really say is that I still love you. Please tell the family that I wish them Happy Christmas, if it's possible. I'm picturing you all in the study around a tree pulling Christmas crackers, and it's the only reason I can even focus enough to write this. I love you all. I'm sure that Hermione's there, so make sure she knows I mean her, as well. Harry. P.S. Make sure Draco gets this."

With a frown, Sirius handed over the second page that had been rolled up with the first. Draco let loose a hysterical little laugh, and slumped in his chair.

"It's the stupid letter. It's the letter of reference he promised me for working for him. Stupid bloody git actually followed through, much good it does." He paused, his face going white and his breathing shallow.

"Some food might help, cousin," Tonks said gently. "You've hardly eaten in a month, and we've got this lovely meal here that you've hardly touched."

"I can't," he muttered past his measured breaths.

"You can try," she urged. "You'd hurt Hermione's feelings if you didn't."

Hermione just smiled when he looked at her, though tears were standing in her eyes. With a scowl, Draco took up a dinner roll and chewed a tiny bite, grimacing all the while. Sirius ignored the interchange, his hands gripping the letter like a lifeline. It was a very tenuous connection to his godson, but it was there.

"I guess that means we have to get through this," Simon suddenly spoke up. "I mean, if Harry's trying to cope with insanity all by himself, we'd just look like idiots if we couldn't cope with it all together, right?"

His face was open for the first time in a month. Remus was beside him, and he turned to the man with pleading, hoping for some word of affirmation. Remus didn't have any words that would feel at all sincere, so he just put his hand on Simon's shoulder and squeezed. They'd have to find a way. For one another's sake, if nothing else.

"We can do this," Tonks said softly. "We really can."

"You think so?" Draco sneered. Half the roll was gone, and he was eyeing it with distaste. "I suppose I haven't a choice, really, I've all this money I have to do something with."

"I'm going to get my job back, I think," Sirius said slowly. "Harry would want me to."

"Finally," Hermione huffed. "I thought it would never be safe to leave you lot alone."

"Are you going somewhere?" Addison spoke up.

"I have to go get my parents back."

Everyone was struck by guilt, at that. They'd forgotten about the Grangers, for the most part. Hermione was family, to them, and they had forgotten she had a real one as well as one that had been forged in fire. She had been their constant support, with her smiles and comforting hands and never putting pressure on them. And all this time, she must have been missing her parents terribly.

"How do you do it? Stay strong for all of us like this?" Sirius asked in bewilderment. "I remember you being so shy and lost when I started teaching. And now it feels like we never could have made it this far without you."

"This is the girl I became when Harry loved me," she said simply. "And I can't stop being that just because he's away. He said he was going to love me forever, after all."

* * *

The sky over the quiet German forest was studded with stars, clear, with a velvety rich darkness. Snow sparkled on the ground and trees, reflected the far-off light in tiny diamonds. It was cold and silent. Above it, an owl was soaring its way through the black sky, its great wings cutting swatches from the landscape of stars. One wing was mangled, with feathers torn from it, forcing the bird to over-reach for each movement. What it carried in its talons was different from what most owls carried. It was not a field mouse nor small pet, not prey at all, nor even was it a letter carried between wizards. It was a wand.

The great bird banked, and flapped its wings strongly to come to roost on the lowest-hanging tree branch it could, curling its talons in disgust at the icy coldness under its feet. It shivered its wings, the whole body shuddered. It stretched dementedly, the feathers sucking themselves in through the skin and revealing a layer of thick winter clothing that formed itself around the shape of a man who sat huddled on the branch. He put down his legs, stretching his frame, and dropped silently from the tree into the layer of snow. His feet crunched on the icy blanket. He looked around. He moved in a slow circle, the wand now held in his hand, checking to be certain that no one was nearby. He cradled his left hand close to his side, revealing pain or weakness there.

Then, without warning, he struck out. Light flashed from his wand and lit up the forest. The trees fell with groaning and cracking as their trunks were torn to pieces. Heat radiated outward from the man, melting the snow around him. Tree trunks exploded, throwing sprays of wood chips into the air. Things caught fire. The man was screaming in rage and pain. The ground around him rippled with concussions. His wordless screams echoed into the frozen air, lingering even after the man broke into heartbreaking sobs and fell to his knees in the midst of the mud-caked debris he'd made of the forest.

"It's not my fault," he was saying. "It isn't my fault. I didn't force anyone to do anything. It wasn't for me. I wasn't chosen. I just wanted to help. It's _not my fault_!" he screamed. "Please . . ." He fell over, curled up onto his side, wept. "Please forgive me. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. I didn't want anyone to die. _I didn't kill him_. I didn't murder. I'm not a murderer. I'm not. I won't be. Not ever."

As he spoke, he was getting up again, at least as far as his knees. His right hand reached out and scooped up a few broken pieces of the tree branches. He kept his left hand cradled against his side. The fingers were purple and dead, and his hand oozed with open sores. Red streaks laced up his wrist and into his arm. He was sweating in the freezing air, his cheeks flushed and his eyes far too bright.

"I didn't want anything to get hurt," he whispered. He took his wand up again. The pieces of one of the trees flew back toward the ragged stump they'd come from. Splinters and ragged chunks of tree began to flow through the air, moving back to their places, knitting back together. The forest seemed to grow back up around him. And he knelt down and replaced a tiny sapling with his good hand, pushing the frozen mud back over it.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," he murmured. "They're probably having dinner now . . . and wondering about me. Maybe they got my letter. I can't remember if I sent it . . ."

He finally began to shiver, seeming to notice the cold night air for the first time. The heat of his fever was cycling down, now, and he would be in danger of freezing soon. He held out his wand over the sapling to be sure it was planted and repaired. He wanted to put the snow back to rights, but he couldn't. The ground was still a muddy ruin.

"They'll be worried about me. They'll be so upset. God, Harry, they deserve better than this. They deserve more from you."

He looked around the forest. It was mangled, but it was put back together. He had done this before. The first few times, he'd just left the destruction. But the past few days, when the rage had gone, he had wanted to fix it. He had to know that he could.

"Get up, Harry," he said decisively. "You're not going to die out here. You're going to fix this."

So he got up. He walked all night, with Warming charms on his feet. He rented a hotel room, fell into bed, and slept the whole day. He forced himself awake that night, having to crawl into consciousness through layers of distortion brought on by his fever. He knew where the magical community was in Berlin, and he went to its seediest _strasse_—the Knockturn Alley of Berlin. He got the name he wanted by virtue of looking and acting desperate, then he bought two bottles of firewhiskey. As Boxing Day drew to a close, Harry knocked on the door of a man whose looked like someone had tied him to the bumper of a car and dragged him face-down for miles.

"I have heard that you are a Healer," he said in cautious German. It had been a long time since he'd used the language.

"Used to be," the man grunted, and tried to close the door.

Harry stuck one of the bottles of firewhiskey into the doorjamb. The man squinted at it with murky green eyes.

"Rochester's Gold," he said with a sly smile. "Who told you?"

"Doesn't matter."

Harry pushed his way inside. There was a table, covered in old dishes, with a cat sitting on it. He shoved the dishes aside, making the cat yowl and hiss at him and run from the room. He pushed a stack of old newspapers to the floor so he could sit in a chair at the table. He thunked the bottle of Rochester's down, and pulled a second one from inside his coat. He'd drunk a quarter of it already, and he took a long pull on it now as he drew out his left hand and displayed it to the old man.

"What do you think?"

The man didn't even blink. He prodded the dead hand with the tip of his wand. Harry groaned and drank deeply from his bottle.

"I cannot fix it, not entirely."

"That would be a miracle. I don't recall asking if you were a saint. Can you stop the blood poisoning?"

"Yes. You must be aware up front that if I cut it off, the damage here—" he traced around the wrist "—is too bad to grow the hand back. Are you prepared for that?"

Harry dangled the neck of his bottle from his fingers and grinned without humour.

The old man shrugged, his ravaged face crinkling. "One hundred Galleons. I will take deutsch marks or euros if that's all you have."

Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew a bag of coins. "I have Galleons. Just do it."

The old man prodded further, muttering to himself. Harry's fever began to spike again, and his feelings of disassociation rose. He was in a shitty magical suburb of Germany, getting drunk off expensive firewhiskey and waiting for a man who didn't know his name to cut off his hand. He could have been giving speeches at the Ministry if he'd stayed home. But he couldn't have stayed, not with the way he was now. He would probably lose his shit again soon and blow up another piece of forest—assuming he didn't just go into a screaming fit here in the guy's house and blow that up instead. But the whiskey was helping, it seemed. The fever was bad, but he was feeling too mellow to blow anything up right now.

So the young man rested his head on the back of a chair and drank, the old man prodded with his wand and muttered, and far away across the frozen night, a girl cried at a scarred kitchen table because it was the middle of the night and no one could see her tears.

* * *

**_A/N: VERY IMPORTANT!_**

_First of all, thank you for coming on this journey with me. You've been incredible. I couldn't have asked for more supportive readers. Special thanks go out to **madbrad** and **alix33** for a lot of critical input recently— I really appreciate it. The rest of you were wonderful, too! I get goosebumps every time I open my inbox and have email alerts!_

_With that said, I have this to say about this series. The story of the war with Voldemort is over. If you don't want or need anything more, you can stop here. There are no more battles or bad guys. But if you, like me, have fallen in love with these characters, and you can't bear to part with them here at this low point in their lives—keep reading. I couldn't leave them here, either. They have a life after war, and I wrote it. It's an epilogue, of sorts, although it's a bloody long one with multiple parts. All the questions you still have should be answered by this section. I hope you'll join me for the end of the journey, the part that feels like going home._

_At the time of writing this note and posting this chapter, I have not finished the epilogue section, and I plan to have the whole thing complete before I put it up. Should only be a week or two, so stay tuned. You may be harbouring doubts, and I would understand if you were. But I promise: It is not like the DH epilogue. I wouldn't do that to you. If you won't be joining me, you should still put me on author alert— I have a few works-in-progress that I may decide to complete!_


	24. Encore: Poem

Encore

We took our bow

We quit the stage

We thought to leave it all behind

But then the cheers

They cry "bravo!"

We must return and call them kind

Our faces naked

Half-stripped to ourselves

Weakly smile to balcony above

But one last bow

Is not so bad

I get to hold your hand, my love

At last released

Retreat backstage

Disguise removed and now just me

Become myself

Awaken to you

Share a kiss and now be free

* * *

"False world, good night! since thou hast brought

That hour upon my morn of age;

Henceforth I quit thee from my thought,

My part is ended on thy stage.

Yes, threaten, do. Alas! I fear

As little as I hope from thee:

I know thou canst not show nor bear

More hatred than thou hast to me.

My tender, first, and simple years

Thou didst abuse and then betray;

Since stir'd'st up jealousies and fears,

When all the causes were away.

Then in a soil hast planted me

Where breathe the basest of thy fools;

Where envious arts professed be

And pride and ignorance the schools;

Where nothing is examined, weigh'd,

But as 'tis rumour'd, so believed;

Where every freedom is betray'd,

And every goodness tax'd or grieved.

But what we're born for, we must bear:

Our frail condition it is such

That what to all may happen here,

If't chance to me, I must not grutch.

Else I my state should much mistake

To harbour a divided thought

From all my kind—that, for my sake,

There should a miracle be wrought.

No, I do know that I was born

To age, misfortune, sickness, grief:

But I will bear these with that scorn

As shall not need thy false relief.

Nor for my peace will I go far,

As wanderers do, that still do roam;

But make my strengths, such as they are,

Here in my bosom, and at home."

~ _A Farewell to the World_ ~ Ben Jonson ~


	25. Encore: Broken

_**A/N:** Welcome to the epilogue, one and all. I am so glad you decided to continue the journey with me, but be forewarned: It is long. It is very, very long. You will probably not be able to read the entire thing in one sitting, unless you have absolutely nothing else to do today. There are four parts:_

_This massive section that details a lot of the things that happen the four years following the battle, with scenes switching back and forth between Harry's location, and England_

_A selection of important papers in the lives of the characters, things that fill in some of the gaps in the narrative_

_Another narrative section that I KNOW you have been waiting for—I'll say no more, but please bear in mind that you ought to read the four parts in order, so don't skip straight to the third_

_Finally, a section that you absolutely must not read until you look at the warning at the top of the page._

_I hope you are all very impressed with how hard I worked on this. I researched heavily to get the descriptions of foreign places/foods correct, to translate foreign words, and I even went back to old calendars to make sure I had the days of the week match up with the date given. Then of course, there were the hours and hours I spent just writing. So, I'm very proud of it. I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

_December 28__th__, 1997_

Hermione opened the tinted glass door and stepped into the building with her breath tight in her chest. As soon as she came through, she was assaulted by smells that spoke discomfort to most of the world but, to her, spoke of home. Cleaning chemicals and anaesthetic and mint. The waiting room was empty of all but the padded chairs and wooden tables with magazines she didn't recognize the titles of.

It was late in the afternoon, and she'd hoped that there wouldn't be any patients left. But there was still someone behind the counter, a young woman who smiled brightly and displayed teeth that advertised the office's services very well.

"G'day," she greeted Hermione. "Can I help you?"

She wore a metal name badge that declared her to be Shelly.

"I need to see the Wilkins, please."

"Okay. Let me get out the appointment book, and we can find a time for you to come in."

"I was rather hoping to see them now."

"They're closing up for the day, unfortunately. What sort of work did you need to have done?"

"I don't need work done," Hermione said impatiently.

"But you're here to see a dentist. Do you just want a cleaning?"

"My teeth are great. See?" She bared her teeth, wondering if she looked quite frightening, then reminding herself that Shelly didn't know about werewolves. "I'm an old friend of Wendell and Monica, and I wanted to say hello while I was in town. Can't find my address book, silly me, so I didn't have their home number."

"_Oh_, you're a friend of theirs, okay," Shelly said comfortably. "They've got one client just finishing up, but go ahead back. The office is easy to find."

What a dip, Hermione thought disdainfully. If she ever had an office, she was hiring someone who'd done Auror training to run the front desk, to keep out people like herself.

"All right, Anna, thanks for coming," a warm, precise voice said, from a door on her left.

Unexpectedly, tears sprang into Hermione's eyes at the sound of it. She watched from the hallway as a pretty blond woman appeared in the doorway, her purse in her hand.

"Anna—" The woman turned back around. "Don't forget to make an appointment with Shelly to get your husband in here for a cleaning."

Anna flashed a smile. "Oh, right. Thanks, Dr. Wilkins."

"I've told you, call me Monica. I spend enough time in your bookstore that I feel like we're old friends, by now."

Anna laughed, flipping her pretty hair behind her. "Don't forget, it's the after-Christmas sale this week. You've got to get in before all the best stuff is taken!"

"That reminds me, are you still having that shoplifting problem?"

Anna almost growled. "We think it's two people working together. I tell you, I just wish Evan was still around! Evan was this guy I worked with about four years ago, when I didn't have my own store yet—actually dated him for a bit—he chased a shoplifter down once and got the book back! We didn't have any trouble for a while, I can tell you. With a couple of guys like him . . . anyway, I'd better get going. Joey isn't going to be happy that I'm forcing him to go to the dentist, so I've got to cook something great for dinner."

Monica laughed at that, and then Anna walked past Hermione, who was gaping at her in complete shock. _That_ Anna? Really? She could hardly comprehend the odds of Harry's old girlfriend choosing Hermione's parents' dental practice. But somehow, Hermione felt good, knowing that Anna was married and successful. Maybe she could force herself to believe that there _was_ life after Harry.

Then she was looking right into her mother's face, that face of such severe lines but always softened with such a warm smile. Well, almost always. Her mother was frowning at her with confusion.

"Did Shelly let you back here?"

Hermione had wanted to find her father, and to sit them down, and to explain what she was about to do so they wouldn't panic. But suddenly she couldn't wait any longer. She raised her wand and lifted the enchantment she'd used to convince the woman that she was Monica Wilkins. Her mother was gasping and clawing at the wall, but Hermione couldn't work too quickly or she'd make a mistake. After it was done, her mother blinked rapidly and stared at her.

"Hermione? Are you— where is. . . oh, dear," she said weakly, as her mind raced to catch up.

"Oh, Mum!" Hermione gasped, and threw herself into her mother's arms.

Some things you never forgot. Her mother caught her up and held her tight.

* * *

_December, or maybe January . . ._

Harry nodded gratefully at the bartender as the man poured him another shot. He took it, but decided to nurse this one for a while. He'd already had a few, and he was far along enough that he thought he could manage to sleep tonight, instead of destroying things. That was good, but drinking had its downside: the guilt didn't go away. It was better though; it just felt like a heavy weight, instead of like an animal trying to claw its way out of his chest.

It was weird, being here. He'd thought it was a good idea to leave Germany after the ex-Healer had helped him, just in case the whiskey and money weren't enough to keep the guy's mouth shut. He wasn't sure anymore why he'd decided to come back to Japan. He had been thinking that since he'd come here to sort out his mind the first time, maybe he could come back to sort out his mind again. But that was stupid, because he hadn't even tried. He'd mostly just walked around the city half-drunk all night and slept all day.

"I shouldn't be here," he told the bartender. "I have responsibilities in England."

He and the bartender were getting on quite well. They only understood about one word in five that the other spoke. Harry didn't remember much of the Japanese language, and this guy wasn't even trying to figure out Harry's wandering thoughts in English. It was sort of like going to a confessional, Harry thought. Only without the priest making you feel bad about what you confessed to.

"You have no idea what an important person you are, to me," Harry told him seriously. The straight-laced man raised his eyebrows, gestured with his bottle at Harry's glass. "No, no," he said, waving his (right) hand. "Well, in a minute. Anyway, without you, I'd be thinking about the fact that I used to be dead and wondering what in the hell I saw when I was dead, and how I'm supposed to fix the mess I've made of myself. Instead, I'm admiring the way the light sparkles on the glass. So much simpler."

The bartender smiled and poured him another shot. Harry wasn't even sure what he was drinking. He'd just pointed at the glass of the guy he'd sat down next to. That guy was long gone. There was a woman with red hair sitting a few seats down, but he was avoiding contact with her.

"I think I'm looking for home," Harry said, smiling his thanks. "You know? I miss the way it was when I was a kid, when it was _safe_ at home. There wasn't anybody to bother me. Now they all want my photograph, and to know what I think about everything. Well, _fuck_ what I think. I'm a criminal, for one thing, and I sort of tried to commit suicide. Never thought I was suicidal, but what the fuck else am I if I'm so upset about being alive?"

The bartender was beginning to look worried, and decided the expedient thing to do would be to attend to the few other patrons and ignore Harry from that point forward. Harry subsided, and finished his drink in silence. He put his money down on the bar, wincing at his bill. He hadn't brought a lot of money, and he ought to be more conservative with it. Or maybe he should find a job, if a person could find a job in Japan without the ability to speak Japanese fluently.

The red-haired woman approached him. "It's been a lonely night for you, hasn't it?"

He stared at her.

"For me, too. I'm just sitting here drinking too much because I'm homesick. I was thinking that it might be nice for the two of us to just keep each other company for a while. We don't have to say anything. I'm just sick of being by myself. I'm Suzanne, by the way."

"You're American?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. I volunteered to come over here and teach English for a year, in case you're wondering."

They were both sitting back down at the bar, this time facing one another instead of staring down at their own hands. The bartender had been only too ready to see Harry go, but he was the picture of politeness as he supplied them both with another drink.

"What about you? What brought you to Kyoto?"

Harry shrugged.

"You're running from something, huh? I guess I was, too. This guy I was seeing, he proposed to me, but I didn't want to get married. So I said I couldn't because I was moving to Japan. Nothing to do but actually move to Japan, right?"

"Makes perfect sense," Harry sighed. He thought he probably shouldn't drink anymore, not if he was going to stay awake to keep this Suzanne lady company. She so obviously needed it, and he was surprised to realise that he wanted to do something for another person.

"What's your name?"

He hadn't needed one, until now. But he had a lie that he was very comfortable with.

"Evan."

"I like that name. Anyway, you don't have to tell me why you're here if you don't want to."

Harry shrugged. "Have you ever had a near-death experience?"

"No."

"Fucks with you," he said shortly.

"I bet. What happened? Have anything to do with what happened to your hand?"

She'd noticed. He cradled it in his lap and turned a little away from her. "I don't want to talk about it. Sorry."

"Why don't we talk about something a little more pleasant?"

"Have you ever been out of the city, since you got here?"

"Not really. I've taken trips to Nagasaki and Tokyo, but that doesn't really count as leaving the city, right?"

"I don't know. It's something new to see, at least. I think I might take off, see the rest of Japan. I need some new scenery. I don't really know why I came back here. It hasn't helped."

Suzanne was confused and uncertain of anything she could say to this man. He seemed burdened by a spitefulness that she didn't understand. Physically, he looked pretty strong, and he was moody and drunk. She had thought he was just another person like her, a little lost in the world, but now she was beginning to regret talking to him. What if he was a pervert or something on top of being surly and secretive?

"The good thing about you, Evan," she said at last, "is that you make me feel like my life isn't so bad."

He laughed bitterly. "Managed to do something right, I guess." He stood up again. "Thanks for the company, Suzanne. I'm sorry I wasn't a better conversationalist."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help."

"Yeah. Don't be. It isn't your fault. I think I'm going to walk across Japan. Just to see it. Good luck with your teaching."

"Good luck with your adventure."

"Adventure," he snorted.

It made her sad, that he was so bitter even about something as exciting as trekking across an entire country. "Evan?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget to live, Evan."

"No," he whispered as he turned away. "How could I forget that?"

He should go back, he thought as he wandered out into the city. He had no real destination, but walking was better than doing nothing. Maybe he'd needed this time to get his head on straight, but now he was just wallowing in his problems. He had his head on straight, even if it took alcohol to keep it there. And yet . . . Every time he thought of going back, he thought of the Elder Wand and where Hermione might have hidden it. That made him shudder and keep walking through Kyoto.

The longer he spent away, the worse it felt. And he became convinced that they'd be angry with him for running away. They wouldn't want him back, not after he'd broken their hearts. They'd throw him to the wolves, namely the press, and they'd eat him alive, asking him where he'd gone and why. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to face disappointment and rejection from anyone but himself.

So he started to run down the street. He hadn't been running in months, and it showed. He got tired after only a mile, and was disgusted with himself. He didn't take into account the fact that he was recovering from blood poisoning, that he was drunk, that he was tired. It was just another reminder that he was weak.

But he'd be strong again, he vowed. He'd make himself strong enough to face things, one day. He had to get strong enough go back, just once. Because at the very least, they deserved to vent their anger.

* * *

_January 4__th__, 1998_

Sirius strolled into the dining room with a huge grin on his face. "Got my job back," he announced to the room at large, seating himself in his usual place at the end of the table to the left of the door.

"We were so worried that you wouldn't," Dora said, rolling her eyes. "You're just lucky we saved you some food."

Sirius was unrepentant, accepting the dishes handed over to him with his grin still in place. "Well, it's not as easy as all that, you know. Half the board of directors had to be replaced, and Minerva is still only Acting Headmistress until they review the repairs to the castle and decide she's capable of the job. Which is bollocks, of course." He waved a green bean speared on his fork at them. "Anyway, assuming the repairs are completed this week and Minerva is given the title, I'll be teaching again for the spring term. She almost cried to have that much squared away. She's got two other teaching posts to fill."

"Muggle Studies, of course," Hermione said, from where she sat contentedly between her parents. "What else?"

"Well, that tosser Branson was teaching Potions, and he's in Azkaban until further notice. Minerva's trying to get our old professor, Slughorn, to come out of retirement for the term so she can select a long-term candidate."

"What about Muggle Studies? Can't they give it back to Professor Burbage?"

Sirius gave her a grim look, and Hermione nodded in understanding. Her parents, who were still shocked by this kind of thing, and even more shocked that their daughter was so used to it, went pale, and Mr. Granger put his arm around Hermione.

"She does have a candidate in mind, of course."

"She does?"

"Mmmm," Sirius grunted enthusiastically with his mouth full of mash. "Teaching experience, very comfortable in the Muggle world. The perfect person for the job."

"Who?"

"Can't say," Sirius said mysteriously. "He hasn't agreed to it yet."

"But whyever not?" Hermione said, scandalized that someone would turn down a teaching position at one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in Europe.

"Well, he doesn't actually know about the offer yet," Sirius said grandly. "I'm supposed to talk to him about it. Minerva insisted I should be the one to do it."

Remus rolled his eyes. "You are enjoying this _way_ too much, Padfoot. Just tell us who it is, already."

Dora had figured it out, and was covering her mouth with her hands. Simon, with a cautious look at her, began to smile.

Sirius grinned. "You, genius."

The blank look of shock on Remus' face was everything Sirius had hoped it would be, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. His smile fell when Remus said in a quiet voice, "Let's talk about this after dinner, Sirius."

Dora pressed her lips together and looked at her empty plate.

Sirius groaned. "I was having such a good day, too," he muttered, and shoveled food into his mouth.

The Grangers had been here for a week and had learned to ignore Remus when he got like this. But Hermione, who had been so excited for a moment, was letting her feelings show in the slump of her shoulders. Her father's arm slipped around her waist to squeeze her, and her mother changed the subject.

"We have some good news, as well. We found out that our old office is available to lease again, and we should be signing for it tomorrow. We can't get our old house back, but we've found one that we're really pleased with in a neighbourhood that's actually much nearer to the office. We're really looking forward to it."

Hermione smiled at both of them, cheered by the news. "That's wonderful, Mum. I'd love to see the house."

"Of course, dear, we wouldn't feel right about getting a house you didn't like. You'll be—" Her mother stopped at the expression on Hermione's face.

"Oh, Mum, you know I'm going back to school so I can take my exams. And . . . well, I'm eighteen, and . . ."

"We can talk about it later, sweetheart," Richard said. "For now, let's celebrate what a big step we've made in getting settled back in England." He raised his glass of water with a smile on his face, and Hermione gladly clinked hers against it.

"Hear, hear," Sirius said, his cheerfulness improved simply through his own willpower. He held up his glass. "But don't think you need to rush or anything. You're Hermione's family, you're welcome here."

Jean's smile became a bit trembly. "I don't know how to thank you for taking care of Hermione for us, all of you. We . . ."

"Actually," a voice drawled from the doorway, "she's the one who takes care of us." Draco didn't come in, just leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. "Evening, everyone."

"There you are," Dora said. "We were beginning to think your mother had murdered you and made you into a tapestry."

"No, she just shoved splinters under my fingernails," he grumbled. "Anyway, I've signed the Manor over, so that's her happy and out of my hair."

"Come in and sit down, dear," Jane spoke up. "There's plenty of food left."

Draco stood up straight again. "I'm not hungry, but thank you, Mrs. Granger. I'm going upstairs. Good night."

It was only a few moments before Hermione excused herself from the table, growling that she'd make the boy eat if it was the last thing she did. The rest of the family began to trickle out, clearing away the dishes and taking them to the kitchen. Dora said she was going to feed Teddy and put him to bed. Remus tried to go with her, but Sirius fixed him with a fierce glare.

"Don't even think about it."

Remus clenched his jaw, but waited there with Sirius while the others hurried to get out and leave the two of them alone.

"I know what you're going to say, Sirius," he said.

"What a coincidence. I know what you're going to say, as well."

They glared at one another for a moment.

"You don't know what I'm going to say, actually," Sirius said at last.

Remus crossed his arms. "You're going to say that I deserve the chance, and that I'd be stupid not to take it, and that of course I'm still capable of it. It's pointless. Sirius, don't you get it? I can teach the class, certainly. But I'd have to Floo directly into the office, and I'd never get off the floor of the castle that my classroom was on. I could teach the class, but I wouldn't be a Hogwarts professor, not the way I remember them being and the way they ought to be. I . . . I can't be _involved_. The students deserve better than that."

Sirius sighed, feeling the pressure building up in his head that signalled a headache coming on. Talking to Remus often gave him a headache, these days.

"Like I said, you don't know. So listen, for a minute. This isn't about you, not completely. This is about what Hogwarts needs, and what Minerva needs. The school is barely hanging by a thread, and if she can't pull things together before school starts next week, she'll be stripped of her title. She is so desperate to fix what's been broken, and it's not easy for her. The spring term is going to be awfully hard on the students, you know. After what the professors have been doing to them, the things they've been put through . . . Minerva needs somebody for the position that she can trust, but not only her. She needs someone the _students_ can trust."

Remus wasn't arguing, so Sirius charged on to the end.

"Look at the criteria she has for this position. She needs a wizard with intimate knowledge of the Muggle world, with teaching experience, and a stellar reputation, and the ability to communicate with frightened teenagers. Who else could she ask?"

Remus opened and closed his mouth, which meant he didn't know but he still wanted to say something deprecatory about himself.

"I mean, there's me," Sirius said casually, pretending to buff his fingernails on his shirt, "but then who's going to teach my class?" He dropped the act. "You've got to teach one or the other. If you thought you didn't have to make any more contributions, think again. You're here, and you're needed. There's a lot to do, and not enough people to do them."

He wasn't looking at Remus anymore.

"I didn't know you were so angry with him," Remus said in a quiet voice.

Sirius knew better than to be surprised that Remus had picked up on that. "I'm not angry, I'm just . . . I don't understand. What was so bad that he couldn't come to me for help? He _always_ comes to me, Moony. Did I do something?"

"No," Remus said, and watched Sirius close his eyes and swallow deeply. That one word seemed to take some of the weight off him. "He just couldn't face the obligations he had here. We saw Hermione's memory, you know he wasn't angry with any of us. He was just very, very overwhelmed. He felt broken. He _died_, Padfoot. He just needs some time."

"How much time?" Sirius asked in agony, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I want him back. I don't care if he's unfit to be seen, I'll keep him hidden here and not let anyone see him. If he really is crazy, I can deal with that. I just want my boy home."

"Have I told you yet how much I admire your bravery, for letting him go?"

"No, you haven't."

"Well, I do. I know it's hard for you, but I know that you're trying to respect his wishes. It's eating you up much more than you let on, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to keep it so hidden. You'll end up losing it, Sirius."

He snorted. "Says the suicidally depressed man who thinks communicating is giving in."

Remus grimaced. "I'd know, wouldn't I?"

Sirius shook his head sadly. "We're a messed-up bunch, aren't we? I really am happy to be going back to Hogwarts, to do my part, but . . . do you know how hard it will be, knowing that Harry isn't there?"

In the five seconds before Remus spoke, he went through a massive internal struggle that should have registered on the Richter scale. In the end, it came down to remembering that the man he was speaking to was also the boy who had originally come up with the idea of becoming an Animagus just to make his life better. They had been friends for twenty-seven years.

"I know I'm a pretty poor substitution, but having me there might help a bit, right?"

Sirius finally lifted his head. "Moony, I really wasn't trying to manipulate—"

"Stow it, Padfoot. You've been supporting me in some way most of my life, and it's my turn. So just save the tough guy routine and let yourself feel bad, because I can handle that."

He felt completely different as he exited the room, leaving Sirius there. He'd perfected the art of having the last word in an argument, and he was feeling pretty proud of himself. It _was_ his turn, and more than that, he suddenly knew the direction he was going in. He wasn't adrift in a fog of pain and confusion and despair right now. He had something to do, something tangible that he could do for his wife and kids and the rest of his dysfunctional family. Pushing himself in a wheelchair down the hallway to his bedroom didn't feel quite so much like his last moments before his execution, right now.

He stopped in the doorway, and tried to remain silent. He had so many responsibilities, really. Just because he didn't think he was capable of meeting them didn't mean they didn't exist. It was high time he owned up to that. To them. To these three people who were everything to him.

"That's right, just tuck in the corner like so," Dora said, giving Simon a proud smile as he successfully tucked Teddy into his crib. "Don't ask me why, but he seems to like having one of his arms wrapped in the blanket. Just one, mind you," she said, rolling her eyes. "He's a bit eccentric."

"No! _Your_ son? I never would have guessed," Simon teased.

Teddy whuffled a little, and they quieted down so they didn't wake him. Dora's retort went unsaid, and she just gave him a light punch on the arm, instead.

"I think I'll head up to my room, then," Simon whispered. Dora caught hold of him and pulled him into a hug before he could escape. "What's that for?"

"Just reminding you that I love you," she smiled. She'd explained to Remus that it would be a mistake for them to try to force the stubborn Simon to spend time with them—better to just make him feel comfortable with them, and wait for him. Remus, lost as he'd been in depression, had simply agreed.

Dora kept her eyes on Teddy sleeping in his crib when Simon turned for the door and saw Remus. Remus put his finger to his lips and beckoned to Simon, moving out of the doorway.

"What?"

"Come to the kitchen with me," he said, hoping that Jeremy and Addison had finished with the dishes so they could be alone. He resolved that he would do the dishes tomorrow. He wasn't exempt from doing anything for the family, and he was beginning to feel a bit disgusted with himself for acting like he was.

"Why?"

"I just wanted to say something to you, and I wanted a cup of tea. You want one?"

Simon made a face. His feelings on tea were fairly well-known by this point, but it took him a moment to realize Remus was just teasing him. It had been far too long since he had.

"We've got a lovely oolong in here that Addison likes, you know . . ."

Simon shoved his shoulder, then froze up, staring at him. Truth be told, Remus was still in some pain, but it hardly mattered. He just smiled at Simon.

"Or we could just have some hot chocolate."

With a curious expression, Simon led the way to the kitchen. He started to get the things out to make hot chocolate, but Remus waved him off. "Just sit down, I'll get it."

His eyes now even wider and more curious, Simon sat. Remus proved (to himself) that he wasn't useless. He had to use his wand to gather the ingredients, this time, but he had always taken pride in his ability to make an excellent hot chocolate. Tonight, he felt like celebrating a bit. He was going all-out with it. Heavy cream, a dash of cinnamon . . . When Simon took his first sip, his eyebrows shot up.

"You haven't made me _real_ hot chocolate in forever. What's the occasion?"

Remus shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you about Hogwarts."

Simon immediately set his cup down and gave him a stony look. "No."

"Why not?"

"I can't start school halfway through my third year!" Simon protested. "I'm already enough of a freak, thank you very much."

"We have had that conversation already, Simon. You are not a freak. You are not allowed to use that word. Remember?"

Simon glared at him. "I don't want to go to Hogwarts. I'm not safe, and you know it."

"What are you talking about?" Remus said with a frown. "Draco has already said he'll continue making our potion, and I am quite certain that Minerva will work with us to—"

"Not _that_," Simon said viciously. "I meant . . . well, the things that happen to everyone around me. You know everybody gets hurt, Remus. I can't be around people. I'm cursed, or something, and I can't go to school until I find a way to—"

"Simon . . ." Remus whispered, aghast. "You don't really think that. You are not cursed."

Simon clenched his jaw, but Remus could see it trembling. "You know I am. Look at what's happened. My parents died, and Neil died, and you're hurt, and _everything_ gets screwed up when I'm around! People always get hurt and die and I can't let it happen to anyone else. I can't go to Hogwarts. I . . . I think I'm going to leave. I need to go away, like Harry did, so you don't get hurt anymore. He probably thinks he's cursed, too, I should have told him it wasn't him, that it was me . . ."

Simon had been looking down at the table, muttering frantically. He didn't even notice that Remus had moved until the man was putting his arm around Simon's shoulders. He brought up his other hand and placed it over Simon's mouth to shut him up.

"That's enough," he said in a quiet but very firm voice. "You know perfectly well that you are not cursed. Something bad happened to you a few years ago, which wasn't your fault at all, and a lot of things have gone wrong since then. There have been a lot of things going wrong for a lot of people recently. Those things are past us, now. The whole world is beginning to move on, and it's very much time that you tried to do the same. I know it sounds rich, coming from me, but I am going to try, okay? We're rebuilding, now. You have the same opportunity we all do, to make a happy life now that the war is over. You have a family, Simon. Me, Dora, and Teddy. We are going to stick together. You are absolutely not going to leave, because I love you too much to let you do that."

Simon was beginning to cry, silently. His shoulders shook under Remus' arm. "Why? I'm not . . . I'm not anything."

"Yes, you are. You're mine."

Simon sobbed. "You can't say that. It was my fault."

"It wasn't," Remus said severely. "None of this was your fault. Simon, your actions during the battle saved people's lives, don't you know that? Jeremy told me that he and Addison wouldn't be here if you hadn't been shielding them. They would have died without you. And when you came back here . . . Dora would have died without you, too. She told me all about it, Simon. How she was so tired that she didn't see the Death Eaters arriving, and how you were the one who pushed her away from a curse and lured them away from the children until she could rouse herself to fight. You saved a lot of people."

He was crying too hard to speak.

"Think about Teddy. Your little brother. How do you think it would be for him, to grow up as a Metamorphmagus, without Dora here to guide him along? He would have been so confused and lonely without her. You're the reason that won't happen. You, Simon."

He turned his face to Remus and let himself be held.

"There, that's better," Remus said softly, running his hand over Simon's hair for a moment. "I haven't had a proper hug in ages."

Simon put his arms around Remus and breathed in deep, shaky gulps.

"I think it will really help me settle into my new position to have you in my classroom," Remus said, hoping he could drive the point home while Simon was receptive to it.

Simon pulled back. "You're going to take the job?"

"Of course I am," Remus grinned. "Hogwarts is a prestigious school, I'd be a fantastic idiot to turn it down. I might be uncommonly stubborn, but nobody can accuse me of having stuffing between my ears."

Simon raised his eyebrows at that, but then he grinned back, swiping at his face with the back of his hand.

"I'll agree to go to school if you'll promise you won't just invite your students to mock you like that."

"Deal," Remus said dryly. "Now, then, you finish up your hot chocolate and go to bed, you emotionally overwrought wreck. I have to go talk to my wife."

Simon gave him a speculative look as he obediently picked up his mug. "Why do I get the feeling she's going to punch you?"

"She's going to be thrilled!" Remus protested as he left.

"She's going to punch him," Simon said to the empty room, licking the chocolate from his lips.

In the bedroom, Dora was staring at Remus with a look of shock. "Are you telling me that you have gotten past your completely ridiculous certainty that you are a burden to me? That you are, in fact, glad to be alive?"

"I don't know if I would go quite that far yet," Remus said. "But I am saying that I've decided not to quit on you. I've got too much to live for."

She punched him.

"I have been— so _worried_, and so _upset_, and so _sad_— and you're just sitting there saying what I've been telling you, like it's a brand-new idea— and you're so damn _happy_, and I just want to kill you right now—"

Rubbing his jaw, Remus said, "Would it help if I said I love you very much?"

"No!" she shrieked, stamping her foot. "Oh, now you've done it!" she snapped. "Now my hair is turning red because I'm so mad at you!"

"What if I said that you look very . . . good . . . with red hair?"

"Don't try to bullshit me!"

"No, I don' t mean you look nice. I mean, you look . . . um . . ."

Suddenly she stopped fuming and stared at him.

"I mean that you're really turning me on right now," he said softly, still rubbing his jaw but with a crooked smile.

She began to smile back.

He blushed deeply, and turned his eyes away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't say that, not anymore. I already thought it was too much to ask, with me being so much older than you. Now that I . . . I'm sorry, Dora, I won't . . ."

Dora had never been trained in Legilimency, but Remus would have sworn in that moment that she had. It should not have been possible to stop a man in his tracks and cause his brain to shut down just by meeting his eyes.

"I may hit you again. Don't you ever say that."

"I'm sorry . . ."

"Yes, that. Don't you dare apologize. You're my husband, and I'm your wife."

"But Dora—"

"I have not had sex in months, Remus Lupin. If you have recovered sufficiently from your injuries, as I see you have, then you will take me to bed. Right now."

Remus looked at Teddy, desperate and embarrassed.

Dora levitated Teddy's entire crib into the hallway. With a flick of her wrist, she closed the door.

"Dora, I don't know if I can— well—"

She pulled her shirt over her head, and he shut up.

"We'll find out, won't we?" she murmured, throaty. Her hair was dark red and her eyes were smouldering and he belonged to her, body and soul . . .

* * *

_January 11__th__, 1998_

Getting on the train was sort of an awkward experience. Hermione would have been happy to sit with any of her old classmates and catch up on things, but she was bound and determined not to leave Draco alone. He'd end up getting accosted by someone and he'd feel that he couldn't fight back without damaging the reputation he was building for himself. But if they pushed too far, he'd have no choice, and then anything could happen. And standing on the platform, she could see the stress on his face, because he knew it, too, but he was too proud and stubborn to say anything.

"I'm glad you decided to come back with me," Hermione said, breaking their silence.

Draco shrugged, making it look elegant. He'd done everything with a certain elegance, lately, because he knew he was being watched. "I could hardly expect to do anything important without earning my NEWTs."

"It feels awfully strange, though, doesn't it? After we've been away so long?"

He looked down at her and sighed. "Granger, you're trying too hard again."

"It's my last chance, isn't it?" she retorted. "I'll hardly see you after tonight."

"Except all the classes we'll have together."

"That will hardly count," she said dismissively. "You'll sit with your housemates, and I'll sit with mine, and so on. I _do_ remember how school is."

"Don't you think it will be a bit different, this time? It seems to me, from what I've heard, that house distinctions have become blurred by adversity, and there are, of course, fewer students overall, since so many of the Muggleborns felt uncomfortable coming back . . ."

"Draco Malfoy, you just said Muggleborn," she teased him.

"I can hardly say the other thing, can I?"

"It didn't bother you before."

"I didn't have . . . whatever it is I have, before. An image. A family name to salvage and make important in a society that requires me to support Muggleborn equality and wholesomeness and . . ." He sighed, and stopped. "You already know. You're just making fun. Because you persist in believing that we are friends of some kind."

"I never said we were friends," she said, smirking at him and stepping on to the train. "I said we were family. That gives me license to tease you mercilessly."

He followed her in, and they took a compartment together, no doubt raising a few eyebrows, but Hermione didn't care and Draco considered it a boost to his new image. They didn't expect to be joined, but they were. A tall, broad-shouldered boy and an athletically lean girl, both of them with eyes too old and experienced, stepped into the carriage.

"See? Safe and sound, just like I always said," Neville said, gesturing at Draco.

"Were you looking for me?" Draco asked primly.

Veronica rolled her eyes and impatiently flipped one of her braids away from her face. "Neville, git that he is, seems to think it would be good for me to tell you about the schoolgirl crush I had on you in our sixth year." She turned to Hermione. "Mind if we sit with you? I can't stand talking about last term with the kids who had to stay home. They won't stop asking questions!"

"Please," Hermione said, moving her bag aside and letting Veronica flop gracefully down beside her, her waterfall of braids flowing over her shoulders.

Neville sat down as well, nodding at Draco and saying nothing. Draco decided to ignore Veronica's comment about himself.

"How do you know I won't ask questions?" Draco drawled. "I missed last term, as well."

Veronica shot him a dirty look. "Because you know me well enough to know that I would hex you from here till Tuesday if you try taking the mickey out of me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco murmured.

Neville grinned at Hermione. "You shouldn't have been so worried about me, working with her. She's fierce, but great to have on your side."

"Neville, darling, shut your mouth or I will shut it for you."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, but he was smiling.

"Well, perhaps you're right," Hermione said to Draco. "Maybe we can all get along, this time."

"I do hope so," Veronica sighed. "The old rivalries have gotten very tiresome, since we started fighting about something _important_."

"No more fighting," Neville said firmly. "I hardly know what I'll do if I'm not fighting, but I'm glad enough to say goodbye to it."

Veronica grinned at him with a touch of the fierceness he'd accused her of. "I can keep your duelling arm in shape, if you like."

"Only as an excuse to keep yourself in practice," he shot back.

"So? I'm Slytherin, darling, I thought you knew that."

He rolled his eyes. "I will call you Ronnie if you don't watch it."

Veronica moved so fast that Hermione almost didn't see it, but Neville had a shield up before the spell even left her wand. "I will kill you for that, Longbottom," she vowed, quite soberly.

He just smiled back, with a fondness that relieved some of the harshness in his face. Draco was looking back and forth between them, his eyes shrewd. Hermione wasn't sure what it was he was planning to say, if anything, and that made her nervous. So she changed the subject.

"Tell me what your plans are for after school, Neville," she urged him.

They talked about their plans for most of the train ride. Neville had every intention of becoming an Auror, despite the fact that his grades had slipped enormously when he became busy trying to save the school from itself. His entire spring term would be devoted to studying day and night and trying to work his hero status to his favour with the Ministry. Veronica hadn't made a clear decision yet, but she was considering going through the Auror training programme and then working in private security as a bodyguard.

"You know, work for someone famous and political. I'd get to paid to travel and get into fights. It's perfect."

"Like I said, she's great to have on your side," Neville grinned.

"Draco? What are you going to do?" Veronica asked, loftily ignoring Neville.

His face was unreadable. "I believe I'd like to keep that to myself, for a while. There's a lot of things I'm not ready to talk about, yet."

"The ever-cryptic Draco Malfoy, ladies and gentlemen," Veronica sighed. "Fine, then. Hermione?"

She shrugged. "I plan to continue working with Kingsley and Remus to develop civil rights for werewolves, to begin with. That's not exactly paid work, but it is very important. I'll try to work in the offices for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and work my way up through the ranks. My ultimate goal is to be a full member of the Wizengamot so I can keep supporting civil rights legislation. But I may move to the Muggle Relations office once I have a secure position at the Ministry, just because I think it's interesting and important work . . ."

Neville and Veronica were both a little taken aback, but Draco just stretched out his legs, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes.

"Wake me when she gets finished, or when we get there, whichever comes first."

They were at the school sooner than they would have liked. Their compartment was something of a safe haven, but they left it quickly once the train stopped. Of the four of them, Hermione was the only one who felt as though she had the choice, and she was too excited about completing her studies to hesitate. The other three were resigned to playing their roles for their final term and didn't see the point in hanging back.

They had decided to hold a feast, as if it were an entirely new year. A new beginning, rather, Headmistress McGonagall said when she stood up and got their attention. McGonagall's speech was fairly predictable, all told, an admonition to devote themselves to the part they played in rebuilding the school—in short, to study hard and to have fun. To come to the professors with any problems, because they could trust these dedicated men and women . . . It was exactly what they'd been expecting, but Neville and Veronica made a point of paying attention, since they were conscious of their responsibility to provide a good example. They did catch one another's eyes and smirk from time to time, just to keep themselves from getting bored. Hermione had stuck close to Neville and Veronica to Draco when they joined their house tables, and they, too, shared in the looks that were being passed around.

When the feast began, Hermione was caught up in the questions that Veronica and Neville had been so determined to escape. Where had she been? What had she been doing? Did she know anything about where Harry had gone? What was it like to be the girlfriend of the Chosen One, really? After ten minutes, she felt ready to throttle someone, even though Ron and Neville had teamed up to try to divert some of the questions away from her. She cast a desperate look at Sirius.

_"Hang in there_," Sirius mouthed at her with a smile. He looked as comfortable as always, with his ponytail and devilish look and his easy laughing conversation with his colleagues. Hermione sat up straighter and tried to act as bravely as he did. He had his eyes on Simon, trying to make sure the boy was okay. Remus couldn't come to the feast, and Sirius had promised to look after Simon for the night. He was, after all, Head of Gryffindor House now, and Simon had been placed in Gryffindor with no questions asked. But they shouldn't have worried, because Simon had managed to gravitate to the two people he actually knew at his table—Colin and Kimberly, who were happy enough to welcome him in.

Another few minutes, and Hermione was done. She'd answered the same questions too many times, and she was finished eating, and _somebody_ had to be the one to do it, and it had to be done now, or it would never happen at all.

She stood up. She walked calmly to the Slytherin table. She squeezed herself in between Draco and Veronica and smiled at them.

"What are you doing, Granger?" Draco asked.

"Making sure you eat something," she said calmly.

Veronica gave Draco a questioning glance, and he glared at them both. "Granger, this is not the place for this, as I'm sure you realise. What are you trying to prove?"

"Why, Draco, I would almost think you didn't enjoy my company."

"You do realise that my housemates are going to eat you alive?" He leaned very close to her and hissed in her ear. "Not to mention me, if they get any hint that I'm ill."

Her face was the picture of innocence.

Veronica stood up. "I'm afraid I've got to leave her entirely in your hands, Malfoy. Neville and I have duties to attend to. Sorry."

Hermione just grinned and went back to her own table, leaving Draco sitting there being stared at with curiosity by the other Slytherins. He'd earned points by being friendly with Veronica, that was clear, but now he really had their attention. He sighed, and took a bite of the food he'd been forced to put on his plate.

"She doesn't do it with his style, but she makes a good effort," he muttered.

Veronica followed Neville out of the Great Hall, and followed him down the corridor without saying a word. They had no duties tonight, except a patrol after curfew to make sure there weren't any students out of bed. But they'd worked out a signal early in the fall term for times when they needed to talk in private. They even had a place for it. There was a classroom that wasn't being used this year, near the Hufflepuff dormitories. They went there in complete silence. It was only when the door was shut and wards had been laced around it that they broke the silence.

"What is it, Longbottom? I was looking forward to dessert, you know."

"I can't do this, Veronica," he said soberly, and slumped into a chair. He was looking at the dusty chalkboard, not her. There were still a few faint streaks of chalk from some of the maps they'd drawn up for prefects' rounds. "I'm going to give up being Head Boy. I'll keep performing the duties until Professor McGonagall chooses a replacement, but I really don't think I can do this anymore."

"Leaving aside whatever inadequacy you think you possess," Veronica said impatiently, "who exactly do you think she's going to replace you with?"

Neville shrugged. "I was going to suggest Ron. He's very responsible."

"I'm sure he is. Is he more responsible than you are?"

"I don't know," he replied, startled.

"More dedicated? More handsome? What is it you think Ron has that you don't?"

"It's not about whether or not I can do the duties," Neville snapped. "I know I can."

"You just said you couldn't," she snapped back. "I'm just trying to figure out what you're going on about."

Neville whirled around to face her. "I'm talking about being a role model! I can't do that anymore, okay?"

Imperturbed, she swept her hair back and crossed her arms. "Kindly do not shout at me. You know how I get when someone shouts at me, darling."

Neville glowered at her. "I just wanted to tell you myself that I was stepping down."

"You aren't, either," Veronica said firmly. "Whatever defect you think you possess that makes you unfit to be a role model, I can assure you that you do not, in fact, have it."

"Would you quite doing that 'precise' thing of yours? You always get that clipped voice and a big vocabulary when you're angry with me. You don't have any reason to be angry with me. You're a realist, Veronica, and you would accept the change if someone better than me stepped into the role."

"Of course I would. But I happen to be of the opinion that there isn't anyone better than you when it comes to the responsibilites of the position."

"That's because you don't know what happened in that hallway after Ron and Michael carried you out," Neville said in a dark, ugly voice.

"I assume there was some duelling and some nasty words exchanged before the blood loss got to him, if that's what you mean."

Neville's laugh was bitter and wild. "You actually believe that Voldemort died of blood loss?"

Veronica snorted. "Well, not anymore. So tell me, Neville. What did happen? What's got you so convinced of your own failures that you can't even live up to your responsibilities anymore?"

Neville shifted his feet and stared at the chalkboard again. "Harry was supposed to kill Voldemort. There was a prophecy about it. He was the Chosen One."

"I realise that."

"Harry did defeat him. He knocked him out, and tied him up, and Confunded him, and blinded him, for Merlin's sake. And then he left. He didn't want to deal with the publicity of being the one who brought him down. So he left us there with Voldemort . . . me, Hermione, and Draco . . ."

"What happened, Neville?" Veronica asked, with patience too obvious to be sincere.

"He woke himself up and started working through the enchantments. He was still tied up, but he was trying to get Draco's wand away from him, and I . . . I was standing right by him, and I didn't even think about it, I just _did_ it. I kicked his face in. I . . ." Neville was staring at his own hands, and when he looked up at her, there were tears pouring over his cheeks. "I killed him, Veronica. I brutally murdered a human being. Draco and Hermione covered it all up for me, but even if no one knows, I still did it. I just kicked him until he was _dead_. I thought it was my destiny, for so long, and I guess I thought he'd get away, somehow, or that he'd get off easy if he was brought to trial. I was just trying to protect everyone, I really was. I knew it wouldn't be over until he was dead, so I don't even think it was wrong . . . but I don't know how I can act like the students should look up to me. I've killed a person."

Veronica had placed her hands on his shoulders, and she gazed right into him. "Neville, listen to me very carefully. If you have done anything, you have carried out an execution. It was what he deserved, and what he was going to be given. If you were afraid that he was going to escape justice again, then what you did was right. He'd been terrorizing all of us for far too long. You said that you were protecting us, and you were right. Cling to that, Neville, and don't let go until you move past the agony you're putting yourself through. What you did was necessary, to save us. You were right."

He shook his head, breaking their gaze. "But how could I? What about that prophecy? I mean, how could it happen, unless I was the one they were talking about all along? But I couldn't possibly be that, because I was never marked, and Voldemort didn't choose me . . . There's just so much that I don't understand, and I don't know if I can deal with this until I understand how it could even be possible!"

Veronica didn't let up on her firm grip on his shoulders. "Neville. Are you listening? I don't care about any prophecy. Not at all. If it is a true prophecy, then I imagine there is some way to explain it. Perhaps the defeat it spoke of was fulfilled by Potter, or perhaps those scars you got from the Chamber of Secrets _did_ mark you or make you chosen, or whatever. I can't explain it, but that doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that someone as courageous and true-hearted as you are is allowing this to control his life. It's embarrassing, Longbottom, really."

He almost smiled. "How is it courageous to cover up a murder?"

"Did you know when you did it that Draco and Hermione would cover it up, or did you expect to take responsibility for it?"

"Well . . ."

"That's what I thought. You did what you thought was right, and you were prepared to stand up for it. That you didn't have to should come as a relief, not a burden. I don't know why you thought you needed to confess to _me_, honestly, but I'm rather glad you did. I don't know who else you could have told that wouldn't just bawl on you instead of snapping you out of it."

"Oh? You think you've snapped me out of it?" he asked, and he did have a faint smile, now.

"I'll keep at it until I do. I'm not about to start all over with a _new_ Head Boy."

"What if I recommended Draco?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Please, Neville. Don't be ridiculous. I only had a silly little crush on him, and that was a year ago. He's too busy being the symbol of change and redemption or something right now, and I could hardly stomach it. Now, then, are you going to stay with me or am I going to have to break the law to manipulate you?"

Neville bowed his head, and put his hand over hers on his shoulder. "You know why I needed to tell you? Because I knew you'd do this, and I really wanted you to convince me to stay. You and I have been doing too well at this to stop now."

"I would have missed you terribly, darling," she teased.

He lifted his head. "Me, too," he said with a smile. "I would have been—"

She kissed him soundly. Her braids fell forward and brushed over his cheeks, but he was too busy putting his hands around her sides and pulling her down to get at her mouth to notice them. She decided that bending over him wasn't the best way to snog some sense into him, and she slid her legs forward to straddle him and kneel over his lap. If they kept this up for long, she'd lose the feeling in her feet, but she was rather more concerned with the feeling in her lips and tongue.

They were late reporting for their rounds.

* * *

_Spring_

He was still running. Literally, of course. The figurative running was only too obvious, went without saying. But running, pumping his legs and racing across the Japanese countryside, was something else. It was the closest thing he'd found to peace, so far. He had lost track of days, weeks, months. All he knew was that it was spring. He didn't hurt things anymore or rip up the forest, not so long as he spent his days moving and his nights with something that had a high alcohol proof.

He was in the city, right now. He had been roaming through the countryside, finding his memories of the language and learning more of it, and learning to regret the lack of travelling he'd done with Sirius when they had lived here so that they could have shared this beauty. But he'd ended up in Tokyo because he was running low on money and wanted to earn some. He had been getting by on a few hundred yen at a time by doing a lot of hitch hiking and eating truly horrifying foods, so he had some left. Unfortunately 200,000 yen only sounded like a lot of money. He reckoned he had enough Japanese to find a job, especially in the big city.

_Not if they saw me now. I probably look like a proper psycho_, he thought with grim humour. His breathing was heavy and rhythmic, and he was weaving through a surprising number of people, even at this ungodly hour of the morning. The sky was barely light with dawn, but that didn't stop people from coming to Ueno Park. Cyclists and other pedestrians were out to enjoy the natural beauty before the park was taken over by sake and karaoke during viewing parties in the afternoon.

It was a beautiful place, he had to admit. He had his doubts that anyone had expected to be graced by the sight of a tall, lanky white guy in criminally faded clothing pounding the pavement. His hair was flopping around in his face, because he couldn't be arsed to trim it and it was escaping from the ponytail he'd made with a piece of string from his threadbare t-shirt. Petals from the glorious explosion of sakura blossoms clung to his hair and shoulders, making him look like he was sprouting the delicate flowers from himself.

_Maybe it doesn't look that out of place_, he thought, still amused. The sakura blossoms were everywhere, right now, and he wasn't the only one sporting a few pink spots. When he got to the Great Buddhist Pagoda, he stopped running. He walked as close to Hasu Pond as he could, sank down with his legs crossed in front of him, and looked out over the water. He settled his body into stillness. He looked on the graceful sight of Benten Hall in the middle of the pond, to begin with, and from there his eyes lost focus and his breathing became calm and still. He had always missed this, after Professor Snape had taught him proper Occlumency. He had learned to make his mind into a flowing series of defenses and attacks on intruders. Now, he allowed himself to simply go white and still and pretend that he could feel the cherry trees breathing across the water.

His body was tired, and so was his mind. Going so still, feeling nothing but the brush of a falling flower against his cheek . . . peace. He could be at peace, for one moment. Eventually the spell would break, he would get up and he would be afraid and confused again and he would need to run away or drink the feelings into dullness. But just now, it was quiet. He had missed the quiet.

Two hours had likely passed before he heard a child shrieking with laughter and the world around him came back into focus. There were swarms of people around him, gossiping about the animals in the zoo and the clothes on that woman at the end of the path and whether Renzi was serious about . . .

He stood up, feeling ponderous and heavy. He needed sleep. He had woken up to run in the park this morning instead of sleeping, like he usually did. When he got up later, he would go look for work. Maybe he'd learn to become a bartender, that would make life easy. He wouldn't have to go anywhere to be at work.

There was a young father holding hands with his little boy on the path. The little boy suddenly whirled around and attempted to kick his father, which was blocked very simply and very easily.

The little boy pouted up at him. "It isn't fair that you are so fast!"

At least, he thought that was what the boy said. Hey, his Japanese was never going to be perfect.

"It took years of practice for me to become this fast," his father grinned.

"I'm going to practice, too," the boy pouted. "And then I'll be able to beat you!"

"I'll help you," his father said seriously.

"You _want _me to beat you?"

"It would make me so proud," the young man said, and suddenly swooped the boy up into his arms and carried him off giggling and squirming.

It made his heart ache for home. He wanted to go back to Sirius.

But Sirius would hate him, by now. He'd ruined so much, and Sirius wouldn't be happy to see him again, likely just when his life was back to normal. Harry had opted out of being part of the family, and he shouldn't expect that his place was just waiting for him.

But that gave him an idea. A really arresting and almost frightening idea that made him stop for a moment so that people had to swerve around him on the path. Family . . .

_Our family. I could remake it. Maybe he'd forgive me if I could bring our family back._

Once the thought was in his head, it wouldn't leave. He missed them so much. He had wanted, so badly and for so long, to do this, even though Sirius said he shouldn't. And now he could. What was stopping him, but his own fear? He could do this. And he was going to. It was time to stop just running, and start doing something real.

* * *

_April 1998_

Hermione was practically waltzing when she came into the Three Broomsticks. There was a big smile on her face and she was light on her feet. Draco stared at her simply because he was unused to seeing her look dippy.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked, crash-landing into a seat. "I thought you were here with Veronica and Brian." Madam Rosmerta was busy and sent another server to Hermione. She retained her blazing smile while changing her mind about what she wanted twice, and the young man who took her order walked away looking a bit woozy. "Well?"

"I wanted to ask you for a favour, but I'm not entirely sure I want the favour to be granted by an airhead like you," he sneered, but the snap in his eyes made it clear he was teasing. "I have several other people under consideration, so I suppose I'll just move on . . ."

"Who are you calling an airhead?" she demanded, and took a large gulp of some strange creation with cherry vodka and lime soda that made Draco cringe.

"Well, then, perhaps you'd care to explain why you're acting like someone attacked you with Cheering Charms?"

"I got in!" she exclaimed with pride.

"To what?"

She made a face at him. He was obviously still teasing her, this was all she'd been talking about for weeks.

"Minister Bones added a _personal_ note to the offer! To thank me for wanting to bring my talents to the Ministry!"

"Oh, from Minister Bones, _well_ then," Draco murmured, and lifted his gin and tonic to clink against her glass. "Congratulations, Hermione." He sighed, and downed his drink in a go. "Cho Chang it is, then," he mumbled. "Urgh."

"Cho Chang is _what_? She'll be Cho Diggory by late summer, by the way. Anyway, are you planning to tell me why you sent Veronica and Neville to drag me out of the bookstore and leave poor Michael by himself?"

"You were with Michael, were you?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She huffed. "Ron is usually with him, but he can't be _charmed_ into a bookstore, and Michael has been rather in need of constant support over the last few months, in case you hadn't noticed." Terry's death had hit the other Ravenclaw prefect harder than anyone had expected. "We were talking about the properties of bat blood in certain Potions recipes, so don't even start getting ideas in your head about romantic encounters with Michael Corner."

Draco just shook his head. "Of all the people to ask about that particular subject . . . you should have been _thrilled_ to meet up with me. You weren't by chance giving any credit to that ludicrous theory that the colour of the fur somehow affects the amount of blood to be used? I was reading in _Cauldron & Smoke_ that this Hungarian had come up with a formula to change the volume of blood added based on darkness of the fur, and I nearly died. If the editorials are any indication, the Guild is going to ban him if he doesn't let go of this . . ."

Hermione was staring at him.

"What?"

"Draco, you're a nerd," she said in delight.

"I am not," he scoffed.

"You read a twice-monthly publication about a very nerdy subject. You are trying to engage me in a discussion about the merits of a new potions theory, not to mention the politics of the European Guild of Brewing—"

"It's Potions-Brewers, Granger, honestly . . ."

"I rest my case," she grinned.

Draco looked to the bar with longing. "I need more gin. I can't even have a conversation with you without large quantities of gin, I don't know how the rest of Gryffindor stands it. I am _not_ a nerd, anyway. I am simply keeping up to date on the advancements in my chosen field."

"Oh, so it _is_ your chosen field?" Hermione asked, sitting forward with interest, her drink casually forgotten at her side. "I knew I'd get you to admit to your plans for the future, eventually."

Draco got sober immediately. "Fine, I'll tell you. That's why I wanted to speak with you. Since you'll be busy working at the Ministry, I will have to find someone else, but you might as well be the first to know. It's not like there's anyone else I think should be the first to know instead of you."

"That was very nearly a nice thing to say," she grinned. "I appreciate the effort."

He glowered at her. "Anytime you're finished teasing me . . ."

"Sorry," she said, and suddenly she was all business. She picked up her hideous cherry and lime concoction and sipped it. "What is it?"

"It's a foundation," he said, accepting the second gin and tonic that was surreptitiously placed on the table by his elbow.

"What kind of foundation?"

He sighed. "Right. Well. So we've spoken several times before about my new image? Turning over a new leaf for the Malfoy name, and all that?"

"You've been doing really well, haven't you?"

"Well, no one hates me now," he conceded. "The trouble is, they don't love me yet, either."

"Were you wanting them to?"

"Not at all. But I want them to think well of me, trust me, that kind of thing. They're convinced that I am not the very devil, but I'd like to think I can go a bit further than that."

"And so this foundation . . ."

A touch of red tinged his cheekbones. "It's for the war survivors."

"What do you mean?"

"It would provide help in several different ways, but I mainly meant it for the students. It was Kimberly Kearney who made me think of it at first, but I've noticed several other children who were affected in a similar way. First of all, it would provide them with money for their school tuition, and their books and supplies . . . but I thought that I might expand the idea and make a group home."

"A group home?" she repeated in shock.

"Because some of them have been orphaned, or estranged from their families because of the danger they represented."

"No, I understand the need for it— I'm just sort of surprised that you thought of it."

The red was creeping down his cheeks. "I'm speaking from experience, after all."

It took Hermione a moment to find an appropriate response to that. "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry. I never thought . . . I mean, you handled being displaced so well that I never really thought about the fact that you were in such dire straits, for a while."

"Which was exactly the way I wanted it, of course," he said smoothly. "But we were speaking of my foundation. It will have to adapt to changing times, obviously, it won't always be simply for war orphans, and it will grow beyond the amount of money I'm starting with. Still. I have a lot of plans for my inheritance, but I think this is the wisest option for me to begin with, since my future success depends in such large part of the goodwill of the general public."

Hermione didn't believe him for a moment. His cheeks were still fading back into their usual paleness, and she knew the truth. That the public would fawn all over him for this was a secondary consideration. He wanted to help people.

"Were you hoping that I would help you find the students who are in need?" His moral compass was still a little wonky, and teasing him about it would do more harm than good. Better stick to business.

"No, I've actually already created an application for the students to fill out. And the headmistress will provide the foundation with the information needed, as well. I've actually already located a place that I think might work for the group home— there's an empty lot to one side so that the building can be expanded, if I've underestimated the number of students."

"So what did you need me for?" she asked, frank with curiosity.

"I was hoping you'd run it," he mumbled, taking a drink. "Obviously, though, you'll be very busy with your work at the Ministry. But I wasn't lying, there's a few other people I had in mind in case you weren't able to do it, so I can approach one of them."

"You want me to . . . run it?"

"I'm going to be very busy once I've finished school, getting started on my own career. I won't be able to commit to it, full time. I'm working as fast as I can right now, so that the group home will be ready before the term ends in June . . . I have another month or so before the scholarship program will need to be established, but even so, it's a lot of work. I mean, I have to start fundraising campaigns, and things of that sort. And I don't have a clue where I'd look for someone to run the home itself . . . I thought if anyone would have an idea for that, it would be you. But anyway, I am wandering quite far from the point. The point is, I'm very happy for you, for getting a place in the law department. I know that's exactly what you were hoping for. Cheers, Granger."

He held up his glass with a smile that, as far as she knew, was completely genuine. Of course he had plans for what to do if she hadn't agreed, and of course he'd mapped out the entire course of the foundation's future, and of course he was completely capable of managing his own affairs . . . but.

He'd asked her. He wanted her to do it, over anyone else. Doubtless there were skilled and experienced people on his list, but he'd offered the position to her. This wasn't pushing paper in a cluttered cubicle and hoping she'd rise to the top. This was taking control of a company that was owned by the head of an important family, forging a network of contacts among the financial and political powers in the wizarding world. It was . . . huge.

"You actually think I'd be capable of it?" she asked incredulously.

"Don't you?" he returned, his voice smooth.

"I . . . It would be an extraordinary challenge . . ."

"It's a moot point, anyway, isn't it?"

Hermione hid her mouth behind one of her hands, amazed with the things she was thinking right now. She stared down at her glass, and felt tears start in her eyes. This could change everything. She wasn't sure if it would destroy her plans, or just skip her past all the mundane steps and catapult her to the place she'd thought it would take five or ten years to get to. And who in hell did Draco think he was, anyway, to be starting something like this when he was only eighteen himself?

"Draco," she said. She looked up at him.

He grinned.

That night, Hermione began to compose her letter. _Honorable Minister, thank you so much for your faith in me. I am truly flattered by your good opinion of me, and your confidence in the differences I am capable of making. However, certain recent events in my life have led me to believe that a career at the Ministry is not the correct choice for me at this time . . ._

* * *

_September 1__st__, 1998_

Harry shut the door to his room and threw himself down on his bed with a deep groan, closing his eyes at the bliss of simply lying down, never mind the mattress spring digging into his hip and the weird smell that meant Gaspar had been trying to cook again. He opened one eye to peek at the battery-powered alarm clock on his pressboard nightstand. Six o'clock. He'd been tending the bar and helping close up until two in the morning, and he'd spent the last hours before dawn walking through Ipanema, drinking cachaca and trying not to be noticed or notice anything.

Huh. It was September. And it was . . . he did a quick calculation in his head. All the kids would be on Platform 9 ¾ now, getting on board the train, losing their coat or their pet while their parents struggled to retain sanity until the students were safely away from the station and they could relax.

His mind went immediately to the people who _weren't_ there this year (not including himself, of course). The people who had graduated and moved on. He wondered if his girlfriend had decided whether she preferred Muggle Relations or studying for a law degree. But she wasn't his girlfriend, anymore, and he found himself wondering if she was seeing anyone. She should be. She should be with someone wonderful. He felt his stomach begin to squirm with guilt. He couldn't go back to her, anymore. He couldn't disrupt her life like that. But what an arse he'd been for leaving in the first place. He should have been there, with her. They could have decided what to do, together.

But that was wrong, too, wasn't it? Because he would have ripped her heart out if he'd stayed, because he was a wreck. He'd gotten a taste of power, of control, and he'd liked it too much. He'd liked causing pain. He'd gotten so used to the guilt of it, come to anticipate death so much, that finding out he had to keep living was too much. He understood that, now. He understood that waking up screaming and the overwhelming compulsion to destroy things was something like a post traumatic disorder. He was over the worst of it. Maybe. He didn't want to hurt things anymore. He didn't think he did. He wanted to go home, anyway, even if it would hurt. He just had some things to do before he could.

He needed to sleep, badly. He still had half a bottle of cachaca, so he grabbed a glass and flicked on the radio on his alarm clock. The combination of the drink and the music sent him off within a few minutes, sleep free of dreams.

A loud commercial woke him up at one thirty in the afternoon, and he wondered for a moment why he woke up thinking about Liam Crew running to the Hufflepuff table at Hogwarts. He smacked his lips, grimaced, and made his way blearily to the bathroom he shared with two other guys. He stuck his head under the tap and let the water run over his hair. He rubbed it dry, not caring that he was using Alonzo's towel to do so. With his hair messy and damp, he decided that he was ravenously hungry, and made his way downstairs. There was always something available in the kitchen.

"_Boa tarde_, Renata," he greeted the wide-hipped figure as he entered.

"Evinho!" she answered, leaning over to peck him on the cheek. She smelled like sweat and raw meat, and her plump matronly face was framed by hair gone frizzy from her work in the kitchen. "I'm making freijoada for tonight, so you'd better be here," she said, going back to the oranges she was slicing, doubtless to serve alongside the main dish tonight. "Alonzo says you don't work until seven."

This was delivered in rapid-fire Carioca, but Harry knew the language fluently, now. He was well aware that it was not possible to keep secrets in a boarding house (well, okay, other than the secret of his actual identity and the fact that he was a wizard), didn't even try to. Everybody here knew the location of his job, his work schedule, what he spent his pay on, his personal habits, and that he actually came to Rio to search for Miguel and Catalina Oliveira.

"I'll try to be here," he grinned. "You know me and freijoada. But I'm going out soon."

"To run, or to visit Neva?" Renata asked sourly.

Renata was always pretty open about her disapproval of the amount of exercise he got, saying that all her cooking was going to waste. Neva, well . . . Harry had thought it made an enormous amount of sense to ask some of the prostitutes in the area about the Oliveira twins. Catalina used to be one, and some of the clientele had doubtless kept tabs on her. It had been fruitless, just as all his other searches had been. But Neva was very pretty, and Harry was very lonely. He knew now what it was that drew Sirius to those women, the first few years after Azkaban.

"Maybe both," he said with shrug. "But I'm hungry." He made sure to add a slight pout to that.

"I have some polenta left over from yesterday," she smiled, placated.

Harry moved to block her when she tried to get it out for him. "I can get it, Renata, I don't want to interrupt what you're doing."

She fixed him with a flinty look. "You always want it fried, when there's polenta left over. You think you can take over my kitchen?"

"He knows better," came another voice. Gaspar entered the room and dumped a big sack of rice on the counter. "Don't you, Estrangeiro?"

"I've lost enough fingers," Harry agreed, and subsided to watch Renata fry his snack and simultaneously keep Gaspar from attempting to help with any of her current projects. Gaspar was great at things like fixing the roof, but pretty much crap in the kitchen. Gaspar thought Evan was weird, hence using "foreigner" as a nickname, but then, everyone thought he was weird. He was a moody nocturnal drunkard, and it made no sense that he and Renata were so comfortable with one another.

Harry, of course, thought the reason should be obvious. Renata cooked like a goddess.

After he ate, he left the house and went for a run. It was two o'clock, and Neva wouldn't be available until five. He jogged for a good forty-five minutes before turning around, making his run a solid hour and half. Then he went back to the boarding house to take a shower and brush his teeth. At 4:30, he left again, but he arrived at Neva's too late. She was with someone else.

Dulcina, who was next door, poked her head out and smiled at him. "Hello."

"Hi," he said, smiling back.

"I'm free right now, if you want."

Dulcina was not the right girl for him. She was too delicately-framed, had too much long brown hair. Neva was big and blond and that was what he felt comfortable with. Dulcina . . . he followed her in. Her room always smelled good, like cloves. He'd spoken to her a few times in his quest.

"If you're still here, it means you haven't found the people you're looking for yet," she said as she crossed the room, letting her silk robe slide off her shoulders and pool on the floor.

"No," he sighed, crossing the room after her. He sat on the edge of the bed, hardly even looking as she crawled over it, flashing black lace and a lot of skin. "They just disappeared, when they left. No trace of them in this whole city. Maybe they stole a car, maybe they took the bus . . . I can't search the whole world. I don't have the money for it."

"Maybe you should stop looking for them," she said, stretching her long legs as she lay down, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

He glanced at her, then away. She sat up again, sighing, kneeling behind him and sliding her hands under his shirt to rest on his chest.

"You could at least stop looking long enough to enjoy being here with me," she chided softly, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

He shrugged her off. "Sorry, Dulcina, I shouldn't have come in." He tried to stand up, but she tightened her arms and held him in place. He could get away if he wanted to, but he waited to see what she wanted.

"I like you, Evan," she said with frankness. "You don't hide who you are and how you feel, and you don't like games. I want to make you feel better, okay?"

"I'm not—"

"If this isn't working, then I will do something else for you. Do you want to just talk to me, instead? I know you never say anything to Neva, but that's because you're trying to pretend you're not really there, when you're with her. But we don't have to do anything. Whatever will make it easier for you to talk, so I can help you."

Harry flopped backward, laying down on the bed with his feet still on the ground. He looked up at her curious face, and found himself smiling.

"You made up your name because people kept telling you how sweet you are, didn't you?"

She was smiling back. "Of course."

"Thank you, but I don't want to talk. I'm just feeling bad because I need to give up looking for Catalina and Miguel. I don't want to, but I think I have to. I've been here for months, and I haven't heard anything."

"Tell me one thing, Evan."

"Maybe."

"Why do you want to find them?"

He shrugged. "Because they're very dear to me. And to someone else who is also dear to me. I can't talk to him right now, and I thought it would help if I could locate the people who mean so much to him."

She pressed a soft kiss on him, but it was surprisingly chaste. "Maybe you should try something different," she suggested.

"I've tried everything."

"No, I mean . . . something different with your life. Maybe you should forget about how to make other people happy, and you should do something to make yourself happy. I think you're very lost. You need to do something that you want to do, just for yourself. I think it would help you. You need to live your own life."

Harry contemplated that. Maybe Dulcina was right. In fact, he knew she was. He had to stop running around the world looking for himself, because he wasn't there to be found. He needed to start the process of reinventing himself.

He sat up. "Thank you," he said, giving her a return kiss. He gave her some money for her time, she took it, and he went back to the boarding house. He ate, he went to work, he came back and slept again. But all the time, he was thinking. What did he _want_ to do?

* * *

_November 1998_

Silverware chimed off plates, and polished crystal water goblets sparkled demurely in soft lighting. A pristine white cloth covered the table at which sat a man, an older woman, and a younger woman. The man and older woman were obviously a couple, sitting close together and very comfortable. The younger woman, seated on the other side of the table alone, was eye-catching.

She would seem to be a business woman, based solely on her sleek chignon, white blouse, and slim black skirt. Her slender legs were tucked under her chair, revealing tall red heels rather than the expected black pumps. She was very young, but there was a confidence and grace in her movements that made her seem older. She ate her meal only sparingly, for she was talking far too much to eat. She seemed to be a very precise person, choosing each word with care.

Of course, there was a reason for that. The young woman was trying to make sure that no one who happened to walk past her table would hear her using words like "Hogwarts" and "werewolves." She was lucky that her parents were used to it and smiled through the unnecessarily convoluted patterns of her speech.

"We only had eighteen kids this summer, in Thistle Ridge, but it turned out that we had twenty-three kids requesting tuition support. Obviously, the school has its own scholarship program, but Legacy Foundation is committed to helping all the students who were affected by the, er, troubles. We're trying to offset the load placed on the school scholarship system and take on every student whose request stems from displacement."

"And what is your responsibility, as far as the tuition stuff works?" her father asked.

"I had to review all the applications and try to research the student to ensure that their request was valid. I communicated a great deal with the headmistress during the application process. Now that they're in school and supplied with their books, my job is to look for donations to the foundation. We started with Draco's money, but obviously he can't fund the entire project. And we don't really want Legacy to disappear once the last of these students finishes school, so we're brainstorming to decide which direction we should take with it once the original set of students doesn't need us."

Their server approached to check on them and offer another bottle of wine. They accepted, and Hermione tried to ignore the way the man stared at her. She didn't know what an image she presented, waving her hand to illustrate her speech and calling attention to her delicate wrist with its understated bracelet that spoke of such a casual sophistication. Her parents felt sad for her. She should have noticed. But she was still missing her boyfriend too deeply to think about anyone else.

"What is it that your friends the Fergusons are doing, since there aren't any children in Thistle Ridge for them to look after?"

"Well, the house needs some modifications, so Jeremy is handling that as much as possible. Christmas is coming soon, and Addison is trying to convince the students to return to the Ridge for the holidays instead of staying on at the school, so she's working very hard to make it festive. She wants the children to feel like they have a home."

"That's wonderful," her mother said with her signature smile, the sort of thing that bathed the whole table in her warmth. "That's why you asked them, isn't it?"

Hermioned smiled back. "Yes. I couldn't think of anyone who would make the students feel more at home than Addison would. And my job, as the manager of the foundation, is to support her, so I've been papering the Ministry with requests for a special fundraiser to do a big Christmas dinner and buy a gift for each student."

"How is that working out?" her father asked.

"Very well," she grinned. "When you talk about orphans and Christmas, pocketbooks open right up. I had discussed the situation with Draco, and he said he was willing to pay for Christmas if necessary, but I wanted to prove my worth to the foundation."

Her mother gave her a loving look. "I don't think that's in question, dear."

Hermione looked down with a blush, but she was smiling. "Perhaps not."

"What about the legal situation?" her father asked. "When we last spoke to you, you said you were seeking legal advice over some issue with Thistle Ridge. It seems to be occupying a lot of your time. You seem very, well, very tired."

"Yes," Hermione said, a sour note creeping into her voice. "We are not a particularly progressive society, unfortunately." She stabbed with rather too much violence at a prawn on her plate. "There's been a fairly public outcry against the Fergusons as the caretakers at the home. There are any number of bigots out there, trying to create a hysteria by saying that they would harm the students. I don't know how anyone could spend a moment in Addison's company and declare her a threat to children!"

"Is it all just words, or is there anyone actively trying to remove them?"

"Yes, several people. Draco and I have both been forced to attend several hearings at the Ministry, but Draco's quite busy enough, so I'm trying to take responsibility for it. I've been seeking counsel from a man named Cedric Diggory, he's actually quite brilliant, and he's been very helpful."

"I would think that Mr. Malfoy would want to be involved in this, out of any of the foundation's affairs."

"Mmm," she said, a noise of disagreement. "It was my idea to employ the Fergusons, after all, so I feel I should be the one to work at defending it. I'm just lucky that he's supported the decision. He could have laid all the outcry to rest by simply appointing someone else, it's his prerogative. But he trusts me."

Her parents exchanged a glance, which Hermione ignored.

"Plus he's got too many other things to do. We've talked about it. Legacy Foundation is mine to make it thrive or run into the ground. He's got his career to worry about, as well. He was able to skip the first step because of his recommendation by the Order, but getting from Journeyman to Master is a lot of work. The European Guild of Br—er, well, the Guild. They're very hard to please. He's got some business idea that he's keeping secret right now, which also keeps him busy. I'm almost on my own, with the foundation. Which is actually great, considering what it's going to do for my business reputation if I make it work."

"You and Mr. Malfoy seem to have . . ." Her father trailed off, thinking, then spoke again. "You've sort of tied your success to one another, don't you think?"

"Perhaps a bit. Why?"

"It concerns your mother and I, that's all. What if he doesn't do all the things he's planning to do? All your hard work might not be recognized."

"I'm not worried about that," Hermione said immediately. "He's going to be enormously successful, especially if I have anything to do with it."

Her parents were looking at one another again.

"Oh, what?" she asked in exasperation.

"We just wondered, dearest, if you and Mr. Malfoy were . . . connected beyond the requirements of your business. You know, in a social capacity."

Hermione frowned. "Well, I suppose, we do know many of the same people and participate—"

"We thought," her mother said, not meeting her eyes, "that you might be forming an attachment to each other."

Their meaning struck Hermione all at once, and she set her fork down. She stared with revulsion at the remains of her meal, and shuddered. "No. He's— no. He's so posh and _blond_ and he's . . . he's Draco. _Ew_." She looked up, her face showing how disgusted she was. "If it makes you rest easier, I think of him as a very obnoxious younger brother. Just . . . don't ever say that again while I'm _eating_."

Mollified, they returned to their meal. But her parents continued to watch her ignore the flirtations of their server, and continued to worry. She was nineteen years old, and she didn't need to be alone. They'd been lavishly approving of Harry because of how carefully he looked after her—it had been hard enough to allow her to return to Hogwarts after what had happened to her, and they'd have pulled her out of her fifth year at Christmas if it hadn't been for Harry—but they thought she might need to start dating again. He'd been gone for a full year. It was time for her to move on.

* * *

_January 1999_

Cameron found his new apartment with relative ease. He'd lived on campus the first semester, but he'd signed up for off-campus housing so he could have a little more space. The college had placed him with a roommate, so he didn't even have to worry about finding one. Not that he wasn't a little apprehensive about the idea. Seriously, what if he ended up with a serial killer?

Still, here he was at Apartment 32B, and he was trying to peek in the window to see if his roommate had arrived yet. Classes started in two days, after all. Cameron was moving in at the last possible moment, really. His mother had kept him home for as long as she could after the holidays because she _missed_ her little _baby boy_ who was so _grown up_ now. Cameron had spent most of winter break trying not to throw up. His one semester away had caused him to forget how nauseating the woman could be, even if he did love her to death.

The door to 32C opened, and a guy stepped out of it. Cameron's eyes widened at the sight of the guy. Damn. Red-haired guy who obviously worked out, great ass under those jeans . . . nice. This was going to be a good location, after all. There was a girl in the doorway, too, a petite-looking chick with smoky eye makeup and very straight and stylish hair. She glanced over and saw Cameron.

"Hi. Are you our new neighbour?"

Cameron smiled. "Yep." He held out his hand to the girl, who seemed warm and friendly. "Cameron Stockton."

"I'm Megan. Welcome to Pine Ridge, which, you might have noticed, is pretty pine-free."

"I noticed," he laughed. "But then, our locale is a little more well-known for the palm trees, which we seem to have in abundance." He held out his hand to the red-haired guy. "Nice to meet you."

The guy shook too hard. "Tray Miller."

"Did you just move in?"

"No, we were here last semester."

"Did you guys get matched up by the college, or were you planning to be roommates?"

"Matched up," Megan answered. "Tray prefers female roommates, don't you, dear?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "You can feel free to ignore Megan most of the time. She won't threaten to set you on fire until you insult her pet fish."

Cameron was sort of hoping that Tray preferring female roommates was a personality point in his favour. He himself had left that option open, and had ended up with a guy, which he was hoping wouldn't be a problem. "Do you know if my roommate has moved in already?"

Tray rolled his eyes again. "Yeah."

"Good luck with that one," Megan added, rather ominously.

"Great," Cameron grumbled. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't think I could really explain it," Megan said thoughtfully. "It's probably better if you just meet him prejudice-free."

"What Megan means is that she thought he was good-looking and he completely ignored her attempts to flirt with him."

"Maybe he just doesn't like girls," Cameron said innocently.

Tray smirked, and a sudden tension in the air was released. "He ignored me, too."

"Oh," Cameron said with a smirk of his own. "Well? Is he?"

"Is he what?"

"Good-looking."

"I defer to Megan. I didn't really think he was that great, but she did."

"He's hot," Megan promised. "He's all dark and brooding."

Cameron wrinkled his nose.

"My thoughts exactly," Tray said. He made a sudden movement toward the stairs. "I'll see you guys later, I have to get to the store to pick up my textbooks. Good luck, Cameron."

"Thanks."

"He's not that bad, really," Megan said, still in her doorway. "He's just . . . I could go in there with you, if you want."

"I can handle myself," Cameron sighed. He raised his eyebrows at her. "But you could totally send Tray over to rescue me, anytime."

Megan giggled. "I'll do that. Good luck."

She ducked inside, and Cameron opened the door to his apartment.

It wasn't big, but it was a far cry from on-campus housing, that was for sure. There was a tiny, cramped kitchen that was separated from the rest of the common space by nothing but the distinction between linoleum and carpet. The carpeted area had a sofa, an end table, and an entertainment centre where they would put a t.v. if they had one—which, clearly, they didn't. The kitchen was bare of everything but a spice rack that was obviously a recent purchase, since it still had the plastic wrapping on.

To either side of the kitchen was a bedroom and bathroom. Cameron had no idea whether he was supposed to be right or left, but he wanted to figure it out so he could start unloading his car. He went right.

He was wrong. He opened the door and found that there was a person in the room.

"Oh, hi," Cameron said cheerfully. "I didn't know if you were here yet. I'm Cameron. You're Evan?"

The guy was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall and his legs stretched out. He had a book in his lap. It took him a moment to tear away from what he was reading, then Cameron was slowly swept by very green eyes that were half-hidden behind glasses. The guy's hair was jet-black and really long and messy.

"Yeah, I'm Evan," he said, his voice drawling with some weird accent. "You're my roommate?"

"Yup. Sorry to just walk in, didn't know which room to go to," he said brightly. "Anyway, nice to meet you."

"Right," the guy said, and returned his attention to his book.

_Okay_, then. Wow.

Cameron backed out of the room and went back down to his car to get his stuff. Clothes, school supplies, sheets and blankets, towels, shampoo . . . it had seemed like a lot less stuff when it was piled up in his car, but it took forever to get it unloaded. He didn't see Evan once during the whole procedure, although Tray turned up about halfway through and lugged a box or two for him. They chatted about their classes for a bit, then Tray had to go because he had to get to work—server at a local restaurant. Turned out that Megan worked there, too.

Finally, just when Cameron had gotten tired of hanging up clothes and was ready to go out and grab some dinner from whatever fast food was closest, Evan appeared. He was in the kitchen, unwrapping his spice rack and contemplating the contents of it.

"Oh, hi," Cameron said, feeling stupid for saying it.

"Hello. Are you hungry?"

"Um, yes. I was going to go get something . . ."

"I was thinking about cooking. Didn't know if I should make enough for two."

"You cook, huh?"

"Nothing gourmet," the dark-haired guy said with a shrug. "But I have some steak in the fridge. I could cut it up and, I dunno, sautee this green pepper I got, put it in a tortilla."

Cameron tried not to gasp in shock or anything. "Geez. I can barely scramble eggs. Last time I tried to make rice, I had to throw the pot away."

"You probably didn't use the right amount of water," Evan said. "Anyway, you interested?"

That was _such_ a leading question, but he should play nice on their first day. Or forever, depending on whether or not Evan had a problem with Cameron. He just shrugged and came closer. "Do you want me to help?"

"No, it's really easy."

So Cameron sat down on the sofa in the living room. He thought he'd finally placed the accent, so he decided that would be a good place to start a conversation to try to get to know the person he would be living with for at least the next six months.

"Are you from Australia?"

"Yeah," Evan answered.

Nothing else seemed forthcoming.

"Where?"

"Brisbane."

Geez.

"You don't really like to talk about yourself, do you?"

"No, I don't."

Cameron shut up and just watched him. He noticed a great number of interesting things. Evan flicked his head to one side whenever his hair got in the way. The slamming door outside that caused Cameron to jump in surprise didn't affect Evan in the least. He was slow with his kitchen knife when he trimmed the fat off the meat and cut it up—because, Cameron noticed with a start, his _hands_ . . . The back of his right hand was a mess of white scar tissue, and the left one was missing a couple of fingers, and maybe even part of the hand itself. Feeling a little disturbed, he looked at Evan's face instead. Whoops, that didn't help. The guy had a scar there, too, one that arced beside the bridge of his nose, under his eye, almost back to his ear. It wasn't really puckered or anything, but it sure was noticeable. He'd been too embarrassed earlier to really look at it.

Okay, just take in the whole person, then. He was medium height, and very, very lean. He was too fit to be skinny, but there wasn't an ounce of extra flesh on him anywhere. He was wearing loose jeans and a plain t-shirt under an open hoodie, despite the fact that he was in southern California and it was not that cold in January.

Evan put the lid on the pot of rice and turned around with a smile quirking only one side of his mouth. "Are you done dissecting me?"

Cameron opened his mouth and closed it again. "Yep," he settled on.

"Good. And no, you can't ask what happened to my hands."

"Okay, I won't. Is there anything I can ask about?"

Evan shrugged. "I don't know."

"What about school? Can I ask about school?"

_Finally_, a smile. "Sure."

"You're a freshman, aren't you? That's what the thing they gave me said."

"Yes. It's your first year also, yeah?"

"Uh-huh. How did you like your first semester?"

"This is my first semester."

"Oh. Why didn't you start in the fall?"

"I wasn't here yet."

Cameron sort of doubted that he'd get a favourable response if he asked where Evan had been instead of here.

"What are you studying?"

"A lot of things, hopefully. If you're asking about my main focus, it's classical history and language."

"Classical like Greek?"

"I'm focusing on Rome, actually."

"That's pretty cool, I guess. I'm in film production. I want to be a director."

"Oh."

Cameron was a little annoyed and hurt by the way Evan didn't seem to give a shit. Well, fine. Cameron didn't have to give a shit about him, either. This was going to be a nightmarish spring semester. Maybe he could hide in Tray and Megan's apartment.

They didn't speak much for the rest of the evening. Cameron complimented Evan on his cooking, Evan brushed it off, Cameron volunteered to wash the few dishes, Evan accepted so he could go jogging. He ducked into his room to exchange the jeans for a pair of shorts, and set off. Cameron went to his room to finish unpacking, and never heard Evan come back.

He went to the kitchen for a glass of water, thinking about bed after his long day, and Evan was just coming back in, over an hour after he'd left. He had pulled his hair back into a ponytail, he smelled like sweat from across the room, and he was carrying a brown paper bag. Cameron stared at the bag.

"I thought you were a freshman."

"I am," Evan said smoothly.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty three."

"Geez. You're getting kind of a late start on the whole college thing, aren't you?"

Evan just looked at him, probably to emphasize the moronic nature of Cameron's penchant for stating the obvious.

"What's your drink of choice, then?"

"Rum, for the moment. I couldn't find any good whiskey."

Evan got a glass from the cupboard. Cameron noted that the two of them needed to have some kind of talk about things like the fact that Evan had a bunch of dishes that Cameron didn't know if he was allowed to use, and if they'd have common or separate food—which slipped from his mind when Evan poured some alcohol into his glass, drank it, and poured some more.

"I need a shower," Evan muttered. "Good night."

He drank rum straight. He was clearly going to drink a lot of it.

There was a knock on the door. Evan glanced at the door with interest, but left it to Cameron to answer. It was Megan, and an Asian-featured girl with stress written all over her.

"Hey, what's up?" Cameron asked.

"How's it going?" Megan whispered.

"My roommate is a reclusive and mysterious alcoholic. Who's this?" he smiled at the other girl.

"I think she lives downstairs, but she doesn't speak very much English, and she's kind of upset. I was hoping that I could get you to help me figure out what she wants."

"You need something?" Cameron asked her.

The girl clasped her hands in front of her. "Need to please find . . ." she said. Then a string of words that Cameron could make no sense of. "Very bad!" she finished. "Find, please."

Cameron gaped at her.

Then Evan was there. He, too, began to speak rapidly and without any words that Cameron had ever heard before. He seemed to be very polite to her, and his face was sympathetic as they conversed. After a moment, Evan waved her inside and retreated into his bathroom, leaving Megan and Cameron staring at one another while the short girl stood with perfect posture in the middle of their spartan living room.

Evan came out of his bathroom with a bottle of extra-strength aspirin and gave it to the girl. She lit up like a Christmas tree and babbled happily, then shot out of the apartment. Cameron and Megan turned on him.

He shrugged. "Her boyfriend has a migraine. She wanted to know if there was a pharmacy close by."

"Was that Japanese?" Megan demanded.

"Yeah."

"You really speak Japanese?" Cameron blurted out, and was not surprised to receive one of those looks from his roommate. Yes, he was an idiot.

"Where did you learn it?" Megan asked.

He just looked at her, and pointedly began drinking his rum again. He turned away, back to his original path to the shower. "Japan," he muttered at the last moment.

"So . . . he's spent a lot of time in Japan," Megan said slowly. "Now we know something, right?"

Cameron grimaced at the closed bathroom door.

"You can stay with me and Tray anytime," Megan said, patting his arm. "Night, Cam."

* * *

_January 15__th__, 2000_

There were five British reporters, two French, and one German, all standing in front of a shop window that had been magically darkened for the past three months to keep anyone from seeing the work being done inside. They were clustered nearest the front of the shop, while behind them was ranged some of the most famous names in all of magical Europe. The aloof and stylish Narcissa Malfoy stood to one side of Sirius (dark and dreamy) Black, who was beside the ambitious Hermione Granger, on whose other side was Simon Billings (the _first_ openly lycanthropic student at Hogwarts!), who stood with his family the ever-interesting Lupins, while on their other side were the highly controversial Fergusons.

And, of course, fanning out in every direction were passers-by and nosy shoppers, who were blocking most of the street. It was, after all, rather a spectacle, with the huge group gathered, watching the front door eagerly.

Ten o'clock, their invitations had said.

A few watches beeped, whirred, sang, or in other ways magical or mundane, let their owners know that it was now ten o'clock.

The shop door opened, and Draco Malfoy stepped out. Camera operators went to work.

He had changed, since he'd last made such a public appearance. He had been understated, humble, almost shy. The man who stepped out the door was dressed with crisp confidence, his posture and movements were graceful and assured. His facial expression, as caught by the cameras, was one of boldness and just a hint of amusement at the crowd gathered before him.

"When I was at his flat with Cedric to go over some legal things last week," Hermione whispered to Sirius, "his mirror told me he'd been practicing this in the bathroom."

Sirius snickered, but sobered up when Draco's confident smile moved his way. It didn't flicker in the least, but it was a warning not to screw this up for him. Not in front of his mother.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for coming this morning. Perhaps it was presumptuous of me to assume that you would be so interested in my curious little shop, but—" his eyes roamed the gathered crowd "—you did come, so perhaps it was not." He smiled, a friendly, just-you-and-me smile. "I've been hard at work inside this building the past few months, and I have noticed how many people were interested in just what sort of business that Malfoy bloke might be starting up. I'm here this morning to announce exactly what it is, and to take the opportunity of having you all gathered to offer up the explanation that will surely be demanded of me."

He had a very private smile, amusement he wasn't willing to share, then he gave a little bow. "Without further ado . . ." He waved his wand, and the swag of cloth above the door (which had carried a sticking charm) disappeared.

Everyone stared at the sign that had been revealed. A few people did not look happy.

TURNCOAT APOTHECARY

QUALITY YOU CAN TRUST

There were a few mutters and blank looks of surprise. Some people scowled.

Sirius chuckled, and said, quite clearly, "Bravo, Draco." Narcissa shot him a cold look.

Draco gave him another little bow. "My friend Mr. Black knows me very well, but I am certain that most of you will need an explanation. To most of you, this name for my business will seem to be in bad taste." He held himself very erect, and made eye contact with as many people as he could when he spoke. "I have had many epithets applied to me, over time. Even my own family has not been kind."

He very pointedly did not look at his mother, choosing instead to look at the rest of his family. He saw Teddy squirming in his father's lap, the toddler's hair turning rather green with boredom and frustration. He winked at him, but quickly became serious again. "But I assure you of this: the choice I made to betray the former Dark Lord, the choice I made to join the opposite side of the war, is the best choice I have ever or will ever make. I will bear the slur of turncoat with pride, always. It seemed only fitting, since I identify myself by that choice, that the business I begin will also reflect that pride."

Teddy had squirmed away from Remus, although he was the only one who had noticed yet.

"I have noticed, more and more as I have been training to achieve Master Brewer status, that we are sorely lacking in a standard for our apothecaries. There are numerous shops, sometimes well-stocked, sometimes not. You never can know where they got their ingredients, or how long it's been since they were tested by the Guild. It's a hit-or-miss business, for the customers. That never seemed right, to me. And so, my mission in this business is very simple: to bring quality and consistency to the industry. This is only the first of several locations I plan to have, and I want my customers to be assured of finding the same product, at the same exceptional quality, in each of them." His face beamed with pride and ambition. "My company will use only the finest of ingredients, and every member of my staff will be subjected to rigorous testing. My customers will always be able to count on me." He turned with great ceremony to remove the charm from the windows, making them clear again. With his back turned, he didn't see the toddler darting through the crowd. He turned back around with a smile, seeing the craning necks that were eager to look through the windows. So, I invite you all to—" He looked down to see what on earth was wrong with his pants, and found Teddy tugging on his leg.

"Ev-wy-one's staring, Cousin Draco," Teddy announced solemnly. "Aw you sca-wed?"

Draco was completely unfazed. He bent down and picked Teddy up, saying softly, "I was, a little, but I'm okay now that you're here."

He planted Teddy on his side and held him securely, raising his head to address his audience again with Teddy's legs and arms wrapped around him.

"That is, I welcome you to come inside, and be the first to see what I hope will be the most trusted apothecary in Britain."

Someone tried to take a picture. Suddenly shy, Teddy turned and laid his head on Draco, and put his thumb in his mouth. Suddenly, all the cameras were flashing. Draco was still perfectly in control of the situation. He turned, slightly, and lowered his voice.

"What did Mummy tell you?" he murmured, tugging at Teddy's wrist.

Teddy allowed his hand to be pulled away. "She said I'm too big," he whispered.

Draco just patted him on the back, and led the way into his shop. Teddy did not want to be put down, but Draco was not embarrassed. He simply conducted his tour with his hands occupied. When questions got technical, Teddy got bored, and was more pliant to the idea of being given to his mother. Draco was able to finish his presentation with a little more style. He was satisfied that he'd dealt with the situation Teddy had presented very appropriately, and didn't worry about it.

He had a few refreshments (catered by the Leaky Cauldron, courtesy of the kind soul of Hannah Abbot) for people to enjoy as they roamed through the store. It was not large, but certainly not small, either. It was almost shockingly well-lit and cheery, despite the tendency of such shops to be rather dismal and rank with the smell of old potions. All of the products were in glass cabinets, clearly labeled and with the Turncoat logo (a snake twining around a tall bottle) stamped on each.

After about half an hour, the media had gone (tight schedule and all, but good luck, sir!) and the few potential customers lingering were mollified that he would be open for business the following Monday. He found himself in front of his family, keeping a flinty eye on Sirius, who was browsing with an expression that seemed _too_ innocent. He was also trying to keep an eye on his mother, who was answering some question about her very public visit to the hospital ward the Malfoy family financially supported.

"That went well," Dora said demurely. "I'm awfully sorry about the rugrat."

"Don't be," Draco shrugged. "I think he charmed the pants off half the people watching. The other half are likely to think I'm soft, but they'll be easy to persuade otherwise."

"That is, until they catch wind of you coming over for Sunday dinner," she replied with her eyebrows raised.

"Oh, am I?" he asked with a smirk.

"You are," she said firmly. "It's bad enough that we can't get Sirius to come to his own house sometimes, but I was surprised Teddy even remembered you. When was the last time we saw you, other than in the newspaper?"

"I was there for Christmas!" he protested.

"That was weeks ago," Addison interjected.

He huffed. "You don't pester Hermione about coming over."

"That's because I was there last week," Hermione said, gliding over with her arm firmly twined about Sirius' arm. She was keeping him from making mischief, and she did it with style. She was the only one of them who'd known what would transpire this morning, and she'd dressed with the possibility of photographs in mind. Her robes were tailored on top to show off her figure, and her hair was pinned back loosely, tamed by Merlin knew how much hair product. "Unlike some, I enjoy the opportunity to spend time with my family."

Sirius opened his mouth, and Hermione took advantage of their proximity to pinch him.

"Ow," he muttered.

"You have no room to talk," she said severely. "You're hardly ever there, either."

"That's because I'm the Head of Gryffindor House," he sighed. "Nay rest for the weary, you know."

"Well, that settles it," Remus said confidently. "We'll expect _all_ of you to come over tomorrow."

"What about me?" Simon said, perking up.

"Sirius?" Remus queried.

"I'll get him permission from Minerva," Sirius agreed.

"Me, too?" Teddy asked his father, struggling down from his mother's arms so he could get into his father's lap again.

"Of course, you," his father smiled at him, lifting him up. Happy, Teddy's hair softened to its contented turquoise, and he put his thumb in his mouth. "Ah, ah," Remus said sternly. He popped it back out with a scowl. "There, now I can see you properly," Remus smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Dora's hand fell on his shoulder. "We should go," she said, her face looking pained.

"Okay," he agreed. "Sirius, you're taking Simon back to school, right?"

"Um, yeah. Tonks, are you all right?"

"Fine," she said blithely. "We've just got to run, that's all. We'll see you tomorrow."

They didn't act like they were in a hurry, but they were gone rather quickly. Addison frowned after them, but Jeremy just touched her arm and declared that they ought to get going, as well. They cheerfully congratulated Draco, who had been seeing his mother off, and headed off to do a bit of shopping in Diagon Alley.

Hermione and Sirius looked at one another.

"Odd, that," Sirius said thoughtfully.

"Did Tonks seem a little . . . off?"

"I think so."

Draco turned from shaking a few hands and sighed in mock disappointment. "Honestly, you two. You're blind."

"What?"

"You know something we don't?"

"You ought to know," he said. "She's acting precisely the way she did two and a half years ago."

"Huh?"

Draco leaned over and whispered, "She's pregnant, you idiots." He straightened up again and smiled pleasantly at yet another potential customer. "Thanks so much for coming. Yes, thank you. Have a lovely day."

"Oh," Hermione said with surprise. "Well, that's wonderful."

"I'll never get my house back," Sirius sighed.

She pinched him again.

"Ow."

* * *

_January 17__th__, 2000_

Cameron walked in the front door of his apartment with his backpack slung over one shoulder, feeling cheerful about the holiday being over so he could get back to his life. He knew Evan hadn't gone anywhere for Christmas, but he was expecting him to be holed up in his room speaking Latin to a bottle of whiskey. Instead, he saw him immediately upon entering and almost panicked. Evan was sitting in the living room, reading a newspaper, and he was choking to death. His face was red, he was wheezing . . .

"Evan!" Cameron said in horror. "Are you okay?"

The noise tapered off into what was unmistakably _chuckling_. As in, _laughter_. Evan Rivers had actually been laughing out loud.

"Oh," Cameron mumbled. "What's so funny?"

Evan was, for the first time in the year that Cameron had known him, not surly. He was looking at the paper in the midst of what appeared to be a good mood.

"Turncoat," he chuckled. "Fucking perfect. God, Draco, you are priceless. And Teddy, the media darling."

"What on earth are you reading?" Cameron asked, not expecting an answer despite Evan's rambling. He mostly asked questions just to have something to say to his roommate, at this point.

"The newspaper," Evan said, looking up at last. "Welcome back, by the way. I wasn't sure you still lived here."

This was very, very weird. Evan had never been anything approaching friendly or open.

"Of course I still live here," Cameron answered, flushing.

"I thought you just wanted to keep the closet space," Evan said with a smirk. "I've only seen you when you needed a change of clothes since Halloween, at least."

"I like the company next door," Cameron replied firmly to the outrageous exaggeration. He considered being affronted and going to his room to put his stuff away, but he was curious about the unnatural cheerfulness of Evan, and was determined to get to the bottom of it. He dropped his bag on the floor and wandered into the kitchen to poke around in the fridge, despite knowing it would contain nothing but condiments and jug of water. Except it appeared to be surprisingly well-stocked. With food, and not containers of leftover Chinese food, either.

Trying to deal with this new surprise, he struggled to come up with something to say that wouldn't shut the door of communication as abruptly as it had opened.

"I was just on the phone with Megan, and she said she hadn't really seen you since she got back last week. You been busy?"

"Not exactly," Evan answered, and that was the normal cagey sort of answer he gave, so Cameron thought he'd better back off of that.

"Well, if you are finished reading anytime soon, the three of us are going to hang out over there tonight. You can come over, too. We're just going to order a pizza or something."

"Why don't you guys come over here? I just went to the grocery and stocked up on a bunch of things way more interesting than pizza. I will give you an international experience."

Cameron was aware that his roommate was a decent cook, but it hadn't been much in evidence over the year they'd lived in this apartment. This offer of the apartment and his services as a chef almost made Cameron fall over. He covered by grabbing a jug of grape juice out of the fridge and holding it up.

"You mind?"

"No, go ahead," Evan answered. He folded his paper in half, and looked back down at the article he was reading. "Talk to Tray and Megan, would you? I'm really in the mood to cook, and I desperately need the protein."

"Okay," Cameron said, mystified. "So, what's so funny in the paper?"

Evan shook his head, smiling. "An old friend of mine made the front page." He started chuckling again. "He rubs it in their faces, and they love him for it. Only him."

"Is that today's paper?"

"No, yesterday's. But it's not local news, anyway."

"Oh, it's someone from Australia?"

Evan looked up again, and Cameron saw him blush, just a little. "Um, yeah. Back home."

He was closing off again, it was visible in his posture, so Cameron backed up again. "Cool that you were able to get your hands on the paper. I'm gonna go see if anyone's home next door, so I'll be back."

He rinsed out his glass and put it in the drying rack. You didn't leave dirty dishes laying around, not in this apartment. He sort of strolled outside, but as soon as he'd closed the door, he fell on the door of 32C with passion.

"Tray! Megan!" he hissed, knocking softly and steadily. "Open up! It's Cam!"

Tray jerked the door open and frowned at him. "What's wrong?"

Cameron dove inside. Megan was in the living room, watching t.v. and surrounded by her drawing supplies. It looked like she'd been sketching all morning.

"It's Evan," he said, wide-eyed to make his point as urgent as possible.

"Oh, god, I knew he was sick," Megan said, jumping to her feet. "Is it bad?"

"What? Sick?"

"He's been really pale and sweaty the couple of times I've seen him and Tray said he can hear him getting up at night and puking through the wall of his room."

"Oh," Cameron said in surprise. "No, I don't think he's sick, at least not right now. But he's _weird_."

"I hate to tell you this, Cam, but he always has been kinda—"

"No, it's different. He was _laughing_."

"Oh," Megan said in surprise. "Why?"

"I'm not sure. He was reading this Australian newspaper and saying there was an article about an old friend of his."

"He has friends?" Tray asked doubtfully.

"Guys!" Cameron said. "He's _talking about himself_. And he's _happy_. He sent me over here to invite you two over to have _dinner_. If we play this right, maybe he'll tell us who the hell he is and what he's doing in San Diego."

"Dinner?" Megan repeated in disbelief.

Cameron nodded emphatically. "He wants to cook. He said it would be interesting."

"This is the Twilight Zone," Tray muttered, crossing his freckled arms and scowling. "He's gotta be fucking with us. Right?"

Cameron shrugged. "I don't know, but you're of age, so you're going to the store to buy as much of that whiskey he drinks as you can find."

"You're going to bribe him?"

"I'm going to find his alcohol threshold and push him screaming off the edge," Cameron said enthusiastically. "Then I'm going to ask him."

Megan made a face. "Don't ask him, Cam."

"Why not? He's acting all . . . friendly. And nice. I'm taking advantage of it."

"All right," Tray said decisively. "I'll go. You two, go over there and, I dunno, keep him pleasant until I get back. Help him cook or something."

So Megan and Cameron went back over to 32B, and found Evan in the kitchen, making bread dough.

"Hi, Evan. Whatcha making?" Megan asked, sounding perky.

"_Pão de queijo_, for you guys to snack on while I make the rest of the food. I was lucky to find the right flour, I can tell you. I was thinking about making _freijoada_, but I'm going to make the wussy version with just regular pork and beef and sausage. I don't think you guys could handle the tongue and tail trimmings. I'll make rice and fried bananas, too. If you still have room for it, I could try my hand at _pão de mel_ for dessert, but I don't think we have any chocolate to put on it."

"He isn't speaking English, is he?" Megan said, turning to Cameron with confusion.

"No, I'm pretty sure not."

"Not Japanese, either. What the hell kind of food are you making, Evan?"

"Brazilian," he grinned. "Although, speaking of Japanese, I got some really interesting seafood, miso, and soba noodles. I've never done my own cooking with Japanese food, but it could be interesting."

"So . . ." Megan said slowly, leaning against the kitchen counter and tracing her finger through some flour. "You cook Brazilian food, on top of speaking Japanese? You're a very surprising guy, Evan."

"I probably cook better than I speak Japanese, actually," he said.

"So, um, you must have spent a lot of money on all this stuff," Cameron said helplessly, looking around the kitchen.

"I had great tips this weekend." He was a bartender at one of the local hotspots, and for some reason, people liked the way he combined dramatic presentation with a snarly personality. Or maybe it was just the accent. "Plus I didn't realize how much money I was spending on booze," he said with a crooked smile. "More than I thought."

"What, you aren't spending it now?"

Evan looked down at his hands as he worked. "I had a really intense conversation with Master Gates right before Christmas," he said, his voice quiet.

"The guy who trains you at that karate place?"

"It's jiu-jitsu," Evan corrected severely. "Brazilian-style jiu-jitsu, which has its origins in judo, which means I would let a karate student strike me maybe twice before I threw him on the ground and choked him into submission. Yes, that Master Gates. And he said I wasn't going any further with him unless I stopped drinking so much. So, no more drinking."

"Is it bad that I'm actually surprised he picked martial arts over booze?" Megan asked Cameron.

Evan flinched, rapidly chopping at a slab of pork. "You know what? I don't have to feed you."

No, I'm very interested to find out what furry-hada is," Megan assured him.

"You said you're cooking this because you need more protein?" Cameron asked, leading the conversation back toward smoother waters.

"Yeah. I'm going to start working out more. I just . . . need to get healthy."

"Dude," Cameron said in some alarm, "you already run, like, ten miles a day, and you're at the jiu-jitsu place for hours every week. If you exercise anymore, you'll be able to fit through the front door without opening it."

"I know. I'm going to keep running and practicing my sport, but I'm going to try to bulk up, too. I'm going to start eating more."

"Eating, as in, food?" Megan confirmed. "That would be kind of a new thing for you."

"Yeah," Evan muttered, not looking up. "Apparently running ten miles a day and consuming all my calories in the form of whiskey is not good for me. It leads to my instructor being able to fucking own me."

"So that's why I thought you were sick," Megan murmured thoughtfully, while Cameron was surreptitiously texting Tray. "Tray said you were puking right before Christmas."

Evan made a forceful stab at a piece of beef steak.

"Megan, geez," Cameron snapped. "Evan, you're going to slice your fingers—um."

Evan actually laughed when Cameron blushed and stopped himself. "Could hardly do more damage, could I?"

"I've never really seen it," Megan said.

"Me, either," Cameron shrugged.

"What, my hand?"

"You act really protective of it," Cameron explained. "You usually keep it sort of hidden. And bite people's heads off if they come anywhere near you."

"I guess you guys can see it, everyone in my jiu-jitsu class has." Evan put down the knife and held up his slightly meat-stained left hand. "I almost lost the whole thing," he announced, letting them stare at it. Cameron grimaced. It was worse than just the two fingers missing. The whole side of his hand was gone, and his middle finger stuck out awkwardly. "I paid a guy under the table to fix it when I developed gangrene."

"Gross," Megan whispered. "Did it hurt?"

"Probably. I was too delirious from blood poisoning to notice until it was mostly healed."

"How in hell did you go so long without treating it?" Cameron asked in amazement—mostly, amazement that Evan hadn't snapped at them and run off to hide in his room by now.

"I was sort of living in a field, at the time. I had a bit of a breakdown, although I'd like to think it was in large part due to the raging fever."

"When did it happen?"

"About two years ago."

"How did you injure it to begin with?"

He turned back to his steak with a vengeance.

"Evan," Megan said, and both he and Cameron stared with surprise at the amount of caring she had in her voice. Normally she gave him as good as she got. "You're being really open with us, which is nice, but it makes it kind of hard for us to know where the boundaries are, you know?"

"Sorry," he muttered.

"So if we ask the wrong question, don't get all mad at us, okay? We're just trying to figure this out."

"So am I," he said, and scooped the pieces of meat into a big pot. "I just spent Christmas alone, again. I actually pay a guy to let me hang out at his business, and he doesn't even want me there because apparently I'm a slobbering drunk. One of you guys could have told me what a douchebag I've been."

"We thought you knew, sweetie," Megan chirped, and, surprisingly, leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "But we'll let you know from now on, how's that?"

"Deal," he said.

Tray walked in, looking disgruntled but holding a big jug of iced tea, and Evan plopped a big plate full of warm cheese puffs in front of them.

"So," Cameron said, picking one up, "you're cooking us dinner because your friend got in the paper?"

"No, I'm cooking you dinner because I'm tired of being a douchebag."

Tray eyed the food suspiciously, not willing to try it yet. "Why's your friend in the paper?"  
Evan appeared to consider for a moment, then shook his head.

"What?" Tray growled.

"That means he won't talk about that," Cameron said cheerfully around a mouthful, and swallowed. "God, Evan, these are good." He looked at Tray. "He will talk about other stuff now, I guess. He told us that his hand looks like that because he got gangrene."

Tray looked down at Evan's hand and shuddered. "Dude. What about your other hand?"

Evan looked down at his right hand, which was whole but covered in white scar tissue. "Oh, that. Um, short version. Sadistic person made me cut my own hand. I was supposed to be carving the words, 'I will respect authority,' but I . . . well, I didn't respect authority. So I hacked my hand up."

"And how, exactly, did anyone force you to do that?" Tray asked skeptically.

Evan shook his head again.

"What about your face?"

"What about it?"

Cameron traced a line across his own cheek.

"Oh, right. Well, there was this guy. This criminal. He tried to cut my face off."

"Off?" Megan repeated, putting her bread down abruptly. "O-F-F, off?"

"Yeah. That . . . really hurt."

"No shit," Tray snorted. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, before that. After —" He shook his head. "Never mind."

"No, Evan, I'm interested," Tray said brutally. He still hadn't touched the food. "What did you do?"

Evan was making the rice, his shoulders hunched over his pot. "I broke his legs, okay?"

"With your mutant powers, or what?"

"Geez, Tray!" Cameron snapped. "Why are you being such an asshole?"

"Well, my god, Cameron," Tray snapped back. "He's been treating you like shit for a year, and then you find out somebody cut his face and all is forgiven? What was he doing with some criminal to begin with, that's what you should be asking. And how in hell he broke a dude's legs, that's another. You think just because he wants to make dinner and show off that he suddenly became a nice guy?"

Megan looked hurt and shocked by Tray, but Evan was just busying himself with his dinner preparations. Cameron was the one bristling with anger.

"Look, he's trying, so we're giving him a chance. You can either knock it off or get out. This is _my_ apartment."

Tray gaped at him for a moment, then huffed and headed for the door.

"Tray's right," Evan said clearly. They all turned to look at him, even the angry redhead. "Those are pretty good questions. He's right to be suspicious. Besides, he's just trying to protect you, Cameron."

Tray scowled at him, which caused Cameron to gape in shock. Evan was _right_? He slowly walked over and took Tray's hand.

"That's sweet of you, Tray," he said, pulling him back in toward the kitchen. "Now take one of these—" he plucked a cheese puff off the plate and shoved it in Tray's mouth "—and be quiet so I can find out where Evan learned how to cook. Or is that one off-limits?" he asked Evan.

He shrugged. "I've been cooking my entire life. If you mean where I learned to cook Brazilian food, it was in Brazil."

Megan giggled, which smoothed over the rough patch in the conversation. "Go figure. What were you doing in Brazil?"

"I lived there for a while with my— I lived there when I was a kid. And I went back to Rio a while ago, that's where I was before I came here."

"Were you going to say your family?" Cameron asked quietly.

He pinched his lips together.

"Never mind, then. And you lived in Brisbane, obviously. Did you live in Japan, too?"

"Yeah."

"Have you lived anywhere else?"

"Yeah."

"You can say where," Megan told him with a smile. "It won't hurt, I promise."

He sighed. "Australia, of course; England, twice; New York; Wyoming; Japan, twice; Brazil, also twice; South Africa; Austria; and San Diego."

"Holy shit, dude," Tray said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food. Cameron waited on tenterhooks for him to say something mean again. He swallowed. "These are really good. Also, was your dad in the army or something?"

Evan shook his head.

Tray rolled his eyes. "This is going to be a long night."

"All that moving was lonely, wasn't it?" Megan said quietly.

"A bit," Evan answered. "But I had my— fuck."

"You _can_ tell us about your family."

"I could. But then you'd ask me why I'm not with them, which would suck. All this food and the last month of my life would go to waste because I'd be sprinting for the nearest liquor store."

"What if we promised not to ask?"

He clenched his jaw. "Will one of you get plates out? And will somebody else watch the pot while I make the bananas?"

Cameron, since he knew where the plates were, got them out, along with drinking glasses and silverware. Megan stirred the pot. Tray poured iced tea for everyone.

"My parents were killed when I was a baby," Evan said suddenly. "I got sent to live with my aunt and uncle and cousin, and they treated me like shit. I started learning to cook when I was five and they thought I needed to start pulling my own weight in the house. So when my godfather, an escaped convict, showed up to check on me and decided it was a bad environment, I was only too happy to go with him. He turned out to be innocent of the crime, by the way, but we had to stay on the move for a few years. I totally didn't mind, because he was great to me. Then his name was cleared and we got to go home, and we had a couple of years there together in the middle of a shitstorm you wouldn't believe. My godfather is amazing. He's been taking care of me since I was eight, and I've never made it all that easy on him. And I'm even more of a prick than you guys know, because I just . . . ran off to get away from everything, and I didn't even say goodbye to him."

"Does he know where you are?" Megan asked softly.

"No."

"Do you have any other family?"

"The food is ready," Evan answered. He was squinting. "Since we never got a table, we'll have to eat in the living room."

They served up directly from the stove, and Evan took the floor to let the other three sit on the couch.

"Does your godfather live in Australia?" Cameron asked.

Evan gripped his plate tightly. "Look, can we stop? Please? I'm getting a splitting headache."

"Sure."

They started eating, and chattered happily about their meal for a few minutes, giving Evan any number of compliments about his cooking but otherwise ignoring him and giving him some space. Suddenly Megan started laughing, loudly.

"What's wrong with you?" Tray asked, nudging her.

"I was just remembering what Cameron wanted to ask Evan earlier."

Cameron gave her a pleading look, but she was turning to Evan, still laughing merrily. "He decided that you were MI-6."

"I was what?"

"You know, James Bond or something. You're just so intense, and scarred up, and mysterious, and into fighting . . . he thought you were a secret agent."

"A retired one," Cameron corrected, knowing his face was red.

"He had this whole story, about how you were this brilliant spy, and you got in too deep and it messed you up, and you decided to start over and go back to school, but you had all these demons in your past and that's why you drank so much."

Megan was enjoying this _way_ too much. Cameron tried to sink down inside the sofa, but then Tray put his hand on Cameron's knee and he decided that he'd live with the embarrassment a while longer.

"That's pretty close," Evan said, smiling at Cameron before looking back down at his meal. "But we're not talking about me anymore."

"We could always talk about somebody else," Megan said brightly. "We made Evan spill all his secrets, we should do it, too."

"We already have," Cameron objected.

"Not with Evan."

Tray glared at her.

"Fine, I'll start," she said, tossing her hair. "I have slept with five different guys in the last two years, and I didn't love any of them, which most people think makes me a whore. Also, I hate it when we have long breaks from school because it forces me to visit my family. They think an art degree is a huge waste of time, and all we ever do when I go home is fight. That's my mom, my stepdad, and my real dad and his girlfriend, by the way. All four of them formed a collective to make my life miserable."

"Cameron has one of your drawings," Evan said in surprise. "You're brilliant. Why would they think it was a waste of time? You could make a lot of money."

Megan beamed at him.

"Going home sucks for me, too," Tray said. Cameron was shocked that he was even going to say anything, and, feeling very emboldened by the way the evening had been going so far, gave his hand a quick squeeze as a gesture of support. "Megan thinks she and _her_ folks fight."

"Your parents have a problem with law school?" Evan asked in disbelief.

"No," he snorted. "They have a _huge_ problem with homosexuality."

"Ah." Evan wrinkled his nose. "Anyone else think it's creepy that his parents even _want_ to know what goes on his bedroom?"

"What, your godfather wouldn't freak out if he thought you were gay?"

Evan grinned. "He would never believe me if I said I was, because, um, well, let's just say there have been girls. Anyway, no, I don't think he would freak out. He's always let me go my own way."

"Lucky," Cameron muttered.

"I know you don't get in fights at home," Evan said. "I hear you, when you're on the phone with your mother. It's so sweet, it's pathetic."

"Yeah, my mom loves me to death, and she thinks it's wonderful that I want to be a film director, but she is the nosiest woman that ever lived. I swear I can't cough without her calling me up to see if she should drive over from Anaheim with some Robutussin." Cameron suddenly cocked his head at Evan with a puzzled expression. "I've _never_ seen you with a girl."

"I thought we weren't talking about me anymore," Evan scowled.

"But if you're such a ladies' man—" Cameron said.

"Yeah, Evan, you'll have to bring one of these alleged women over sometime," Megan teased.

"Maybe he's shy," Cameron snickered.

"Okay!" Evan exploded. "My godfather isn't the only one I ran away from. I had a girlfriend. I had a brilliant, amazing, talented, sexy woman who deigned to be with me, and I fucked her life up and then abandoned her, and I don't want a girlfriend ever again. Now can you just _leave me alone_?"

And Evan walked right out of the apartment.

"Evan, I'm sorry!" Cameron said, jumping up. "Where are you going?"

"For a run," he barked, and shut the door.

Tray tugged Cameron back down. "Let him go."

Cameron stared at his shoes miserably. "I'm such an idiot. What if I just pushed him off the wagon or something?"

"If that happens, it won't be your fault," Tray said, putting an arm over his shoulders. "But I don't think he will. Don't worry so much, Cam."

Megan decided to clean up the dinner leftovers and give the two of them enough space to finally admit, after a year, that they were interested in each other. She wasn't that worried about Evan. He was too pig-headed to do anything but what he'd set his mind to do, which meant he'd be here, sober, and studying for his computer class by morning. Whether or not he'd ever talk to them again, now that was the question.

* * *

_June 2000_

"I could have just met you at your flat," Hermione said as soon as she was close to the table.

"Hello, Ms. Granger," Draco greeted her, imperturbed. He stood up and pulled out her chair for her, then nodded to the black-robed waitress standing nearby. The server headed for the kitchen, and Draco sat back down. "How are you?"

"I get the afternoon off, but I still have to dress up," she sighed. "It's not as though I haven't been to your flat before."

"You really shouldn't," he murmured, looking at her over the rim of a glass of sparkling water. "Not unless you want people to get the wrong idea about us."

Hermione pulled a face before placing a delicate hand on her own water goblet, more holding it for the sake of appearance than actually drinking it.

"Well, really," Draco said in a thoughtful voice. "It _is_ something we ought to consider. It would be advantageous to the both of us. I become even more trustworthy, you become even more successful . . ."

"Draco, dear," Hermione said with a sweet smile, "are you attempting to propose that we see one another with the intention of marriage?"

"I was merely pointing out the benefits," he countered.

"Do you have any romantic feelings toward me?"

"Sweet Merlin, no." Now it was his turn to pull a face.

"I see. Draco?"

"Yes, Granger?"

"Stuff it."

"Yes, Miss Granger."

Their server appeared, and set in front of them shallow bowls of a creamy seafood bisque. Hermione inhaled with pleasure, and smiled at the server until she retreated again.

"I see you've placed an order already."

"I trust I know the tastes of my own lady wife," he smirked.

She glared. "Can we actually have our meeting to discuss Legacy, now that you're finished being nonsensical?"

"I happen to consider that a relevant point of business, therefore the meeting has already begun."

"Do you really think you'd look smart with your head doused in my soup?"

"Point taken, Miss Granger. What have you to report, then?"

"Merlin, Draco. Do you honestly talk to everyone this way?"

"We're having a meeting at a public establishment, after all."

"All the more reason we should have done this at your flat. I have my own image to maintain, but I refuse to waste my afternoon away from work being all formal and full of pleasantries. Honestly, Draco, we've known each other literally half our lives. Let your hair down for an hour."

Draco looked pained, for a moment. Hermione giggled.

"You enjoy this, don't you? All this posturing?"

"Yes, I think I do," he said, smiling a genuine smile at last. "Why do you think I invited you to a meeting at all?"

"There are certain things I won't bring up because I'm not cruel, but do keep in mind that I've seen you at your worst. This dazzling charm thing does not work on me."

Draco sighed, and pouted. "You are no fun at all, Granger."

"I am the life of the party, when people can manage to call me by my first name."

Their water glasses were refilled, silently. Hermione refused to admit she was impressed by Draco's choice of restaurant.

"You know you'd get a swelled head if I catered to your every whim, Granger."

"_My_ head?" she laughed. "What about yours?"

"I have every right to a huge ego. As do you, for that matter. We are young, beautiful, and famous. Isn't it wonderful?"

She groaned.

"Fine, then, business," he sighed. "All the students are settled in at the Ridge for the summer, correct?"

"They are. We have fifteen this year," she reminded him. "Jeremy completed all his projects this spring, so the boys and girls have separate stairs to the common floor now, and there's a second bathroom for the girls."

"Addison must be thrilled to have them all back."

"Oh, yes. She decorated and did a special dinner and everything."

"I would be a good foundation manager and scold her, but I know we have plenty set aside for special occasions. Your ability to wring money out of people is awe-inspiring. I may have to put you to work for Turncoat once Legacy doesn't need you anymore."

"I will likely put in my resignation, six months to a year from now," Hermione admitted.

Draco was surprised, but the linguine with chicken and mushrooms had arrived, and he waited to speak until they were alone again.

"You're being serious, Granger?" he confirmed, twirling a piece of pasta on his fork.

"I am. Jeremy and Addison have expressed to me that they are interested in taking on more of the responsibility for the foundation, and I'd like to start including them in the fundraising and paperwork side of things. I think I can phase myself out within a few months, and bring on someone part-time to do secretarial work for them."

"But you want to stay on a bit longer?" he pressed.

"Yes. It's mostly for legal reasons. There are no current attempts to remove Jeremy and Addison from Thistle Ridge, but it's only been quiet for about a month. I want to make sure that things stay that way before I go. I want to personally introduce the Fergusons to all my contacts, to make sure they won't be ignored once I'm gone."

"You seem pretty certain that we won't have any more legal problems."

"I'm not certain, no. But Kingsley, Remus, and I have made a remarkable difference to the laws regarding werewolf rights. And there hasn't been so much as a nasty editorial in weeks, so it seems as though people have started coming around. I think it would be smart of us to stay in contact with Cedric for, say, a year?"

Draco nodded soberly. "I agree, about Diggory. And I am going to trust your opinion on the sustainability of this foundation after you leave."

Hermione smiled, and it was breathtaking. "Thank you, Draco."

"I feel I should point out to you that the purpose of this foundation was not to pave the way for your civil rights campaign. It's a terrible abuse of power, madam."

Hermione snorted at him.

"Very ladylike," he said dryly. "But in all seriousness, I am glad it has gone the way it has. Things looked very bleak for a little while, last year. I very nearly put my studies with the Guild on hold to be able to give my full attention to the foundation, but I thought it would look as though I didn't trust you, so I let you handle it. You pulled it off, to my delight. I wasn't completely surprised, because I know you're incredible, but still . . . thank you for not letting me down."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I didn't do it for _you_."

"I know."

"Well, maybe a little for you. But mostly for those kids."

"And quite possibly for yourself?"

"Maybe a little," she repeated, smiling.

They were quiet for a couple of minutes, enjoying their food. Draco was impressed with how much Hermione had learned, since she'd started spending so much time among wealthy and powerful people. She used her silverware differently. She held her head and shoulders taller. Her face gave nothing away until she wanted it to.

"What do you want for your birthday?" he asked impulsively.

"What?" she laughed. "My birthday isn't for over two months!"

"I know, but I'm going to France, and I think a power-hungry woman ought to have a piece of elegant French jewelry, especially on her twenty-first birthday."

"Are you getting French jewelry when you turn twenty-one?"

"Well, I only just turned twenty, so it's a bit early. But no, I shall be getting Italian cuff links. For you, definitely a French bracelet or earrings."

"Whatever you think suits the image best, then," she said, rolling her eyes. "Are you _really_ going to France?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Later this afternoon."

"Draco!" she gasped. "You didn't say anything!"

"I was getting to it," he protested. "I wanted to hear about Legacy first."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Why are you going to France?"

"For business. Do I do anything for any other reason?"

"I assume you're talking about Turncoat."

"Yes, of course."

"Are you planning to open a new location in France, then?"

"Not yet," he said with a sly smile. "My next location will likely be Hogsmeade."

"There's already an apothecary in Hogsmeade."

"Whom I will put out of business," Draco said, quirking one eyebrow. "Don't worry," he hurried onward before she could say anything, "he has a very competent employee that won't find herself wanting for work. The apothecary himself is sloppy and cheats his customers, so he deserves it. I've already told the apothecary who is currently in Diagon Alley that he can manage the Hogsmeade location, once he admits to himself that I've taken all his customers. Anyway, after Hogsmeade, France is quite likely. Paris, obviously. And at least two locations in the United States, when I get that far. After that, we'll see."

"You seem so sure of yourself," Hermione said, beaming at him. "It's quite a turnaround."

"I don't know what you mean," he said flatly.

"I mean that I remember how you were when you first arrived at Grimmauld Place. And right after the battle. It's nice to see that you're eating and sleeping these days."

"As if my health could do anything but improve after all your nagging."

"And now you're hoping to expand your apothecary shop into an international business."

"Turncoat had a very satisfactory first quarter," he shrugged. "I haven't seen the results for the second quarter yet, but I've had to employ a Journeyman Brewer to keep up with demands, so I feel confident about the figures. It wasn't ever going to be only one shop."

Hermione took a deep, careful breath. "Would it be very improper of me to say that I think your father would be proud of you?"

Draco's hand spasmed on his fork, and he dropped it. He was saved by the thick tablecloth, so it didn't clatter.

"I'm sor—"

"Don't."

"I only meant—"

"Hermione. Don't."

She looked down at her plate, composed herself, and looked back up. "Tell me about France, then," she said.

"Fleur de lis," he answered promptly.

"Beg your pardon? You mean the magical lily?"

"Yes. Commonly used in potions to treat infection or clean residue left by Dark magic. Key ingredient in Felix Felicis. Fleur de lis."

"I know what it is, Draco," Hermione said impatiently. "But they do grow it in England."

"Have you ever heard of the Blois family?"

Hermione frowned. "I think I have. They're an old pureblood family in France, wealthy. Oh, I see. Their main business is their magical nurseries."

Draco nodded. "They have the highest quality crop of fleur de lis in the world, every year. I'm going to France to meet with the current owner of _Biens Blois_."

"And what is that?"

"Basically translated, 'The Estate of Blois.' Woman named Mathilde Blois is the current head of the family and business—her father's will passed over her brother to give her the reins, just last year. She manages the nurseries, among other things. I plan to negotiate a very good contract between Blois and Turncoat for a regular supply of the fleur de lis crop. If I impress her, I'll get a tour of the nurseries and possibly expand the contract to include a few other crops."

"_You_ have to impress _her_?" Hermione asked, not believing him.

"Oh, yes. The Malfoy family is pureblooded and old, but only just equal with the Blois family as far as that goes. Financially, they've been better off since my grandfather's time." He cast an innocent look over the table. "That will change, of course. Turncoat Enterprises is going to be more than just a chain of shops."

Hermione shook her head, but she was smiling. "Just don't forget the little people," she said, and raised her water goblet with a querying look.

"Never," Draco smirked, and clinked his glass to hers.

"You'd better run along, if you have to travel to France this afternoon," Hermione said once they'd drank. "Will you be staying long?"

He shook his head. "Only two days. Although I may stay an extra day, if I can't make time to have drinks with Miss Delacour by then."

"With . . . you mean, Fleur Delacour?"

"Yes. You hadn't heard?"

"No, apparently not. What about her?"

"She and Bill Weasley called things off. His family just never liked her, and she got tired of it. She has just been employed by _Biens Blois_ in their public relations department. She heard I was coming and said we should have a few drinks and chat. I think she's still half in love with Weasley, and she'll spend the entire time asking me if I've heard anything about him. But I can hardly say no to a fellow war veteran, not without getting a snub in the paper. Or getting a snub from Mathilde Blois, which I can hardly afford."

"I'm sure it will be very enjoyable," Hermione said, with complete insincerity.

"You're mocking me, Granger, and I may have to retaliate. What are you doing this weekend, feeding the cat?"

Hermione turned up her nose. "I have a date tomorrow night."

"Do you really?" he grinned. "With whom?"

She sighed. "Some poor boy my parents set me up with. A medical student who came in to their practice for a crown or something."

"You'll have a lovely time," Draco smirked, no more sincere than she was.

"Weren't you the one saying that being young, beautiful, and famous was supposed to be wonderful?" she grumbled.

"Did I?" he sighed. "I meant aggravating."

"Good luck in France, Draco."

"Good luck on your date, Granger."

"When do you want to meet next?"

"Not for a few months, but I'm sure we'll see plenty of each other when Dora has her baby in a week or two. Goodbye."

He pecked her on the cheek, and she tried not to roll her eyes. Then she exited the restaurant, wondering if she could work up a fatal illness before tomorrow night.

* * *

_September 18__th__, 2000_

Harry could barely climb the stairs to his flat, having just gone through the most grueling weekend of his life. He felt exhausted and sticky with sweat from the long walk he'd had to take from the bus stop, and he desperately wanted to get clean and shut down. He was sure he'd be feeling on top of the world in a while, but that would be after he soaked his muscles in the tub and slept the rest of the day and night. Tomorrow. He'd permit himself to be gleeful tomorrow.

He opened the door and found Cameron and Tray enthusiastically making out on his sofa. He stared at them dully, then turned back around and left, completely unnoticed by them. He went next door and tried very hard to lift his arm to knock, then decided to skip the knocking and just went in.

Megan was laying on the living room floor with one of her larger sketchbooks and a box of charcoals scattered over a page of newspaper. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Hey, Evan. Welcome back."

"Ungh," he answered.

"You went to your place first, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"Sorry. I know they usually do that here, but I was trying to get some work done and I made them go over there. I didn't think you'd be back yet."

He shrugged. "I'm exhausted," he said.

"Sit down."

He looked at the loveseat, which was not long enough to lay on, and the beanbag chairs pushed against the wall, which he would never be able to climb out of. "I'd better not," he finally answered.

"You look like crap, Evan," she said frankly, clambering up from the floor and giving him a hug. "You want me to make some coffee?"

He shook his head. "I don't need any caffeine right now. I need to take a very long bath and go to bed."

"I usually only do that when the guy never calls," Megan said sympathetically. "It didn't go well?"

Harry could feel a smile creeping over his face, in spite of himself. He was starting to grin.

"Oh, Evan," she gushed, and hugged him again. "You did it?"

"Yeah. I did it."

She had a tendency to pierce ear drums when she was excited. He winced, but managed to make his arms hug her.

"Don't be such a big baby," she scolded him. "You've been working hard this whole time, so you're used to it by now."

"I didn't sleep the whole weekend. I grappled with a dummy in my hotel room when I got the opportunity to sleep. And I worked out. And I thought deep, joint-locking thoughts."

Megan giggled. "You poor thing. But you did it! Let me see? Did he give it to you yet?"

He was wearing a backpack, which he shrugged off and put on the kitchen counter. He pulled out his belt, but he held onto it while she admired it. He'd worked too hard to let it go for even a second.

"Cam and Tray have been swapping spit for, like, an hour," Megan said. "They can stop long enough to see this. Come on, let's go interrupt them."

He made a face, but let her lead him back to his own flat.

"Guys!" Megan sang, making them pull away from each other at last. Tray looked annoyed by the interruption, but Cameron just looked dazedly happy. "Guess who's home?"

"Hey," Tray greeted, pushing himself off of Cameron but keeping one arm around him.

"Evan, how'd it go?" Cameron asked cheerfully.

Megan grabbed his wrist to make him hold up his arm, and it took a real effort to remember he wasn't supposed to break the hold and take her to the ground.

"You got your black belt!" Cameron whooped.

"Awesome, dude," Tray said.

"More than awesome," Cameron corrected him. "It usually takes forever to get black belt, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded, and that proud feeling began to creep over him again. Maybe he'd made a bit of a shortcut, but when he'd debuted his skills at the studio, Gates had judged him to be halfway between purple and brown belt, and had just given him purple right away. He'd worked incredibly hard and gotten brown with almost unprecedented speed, but Master Gates had taken into account that his pupil had been practicing for seven years already.

Then, right before Christmas, Master Gates had sat him down and told him that he could work his arse off for the rest of his life and Gates would never allow him a black belt of any degree unless he cleaned up his act.

_You're a very determined man, Evan, but I cannot reward someone who makes such huge mistakes in his life._

Harry had been angry. More than angry. But he had a lot of respect for Gates, and the man had been so kind and respectful about tearing his pupil apart.

_I know that you work hard in here. I do. I think it's amazing that you have overcome the problem with your hand so easily. You have an amazing talent for this sport, and you drive yourself incredibly hard to improve._

Harry had been unclear which part of this was the part that meant he couldn't advance anymore.

_You're also rude, and angry, and you come in here smelling like alcohol, which disrespects me and the other students here. I'll be really straight with you, Evan. You probably won't make the cut for black belt anyway, not the way you're going. I know you think you're in really good shape, but you just aren't healthy. The drinking isn't good for you. I'm not going to pretend to know about your personal life, okay? I'm not trying to stick my nose into your business. I'm just telling you what I see, and what I see isn't the kind of guy I want the kids in my studio to look up to. You're killing yourself, Evan. Very slowly, maybe, but you are._

_So here's my ultimatum: you get healthy, or you don't come back and waste everybody's time anymore. It's up to you. You decide if you want to be here or not._

He'd gotten belligerent about it, he was ashamed to admit that now. He'd challenged Master Gates. And that was just hilarious, in hindsight. Gates was very close to achieving red belt, the highest rank you could earn in the sport. Harry, upset as he'd been, had surprised Gates for a moment with his ferocity, but he'd been tapping the mat within a minute.

He'd gone home feeling like he'd found a new low point in life. His roommate hated him so much he didn't even sleep here, half the time. His jiu-jitsu coach was trying to get rid of him. He hadn't done anything that was remotely wizard-like in ages—it actually took him a minute to find his wand, once he started wondering where it was.

He'd been thinking about his first trainer in jiu-jitsu, whom he'd tried so hard to track down. About how disappointed Miguel would be. And then there was Sirius. What would Sirius think of him, if he could see him?

And that was it. Harry was finished being pathetic. He'd allowed himself to slide as far down as he was willing to go, just because he hadn't been paying attention to himself. Feeling sorry for himself, yes, but never noticing what he'd allowed himself to become. And what did he have to feel sorry over? Nothing at all! What had he been through that other people hadn't? What made him so special?

He felt sick just thinking about all of it, and he decided, right then, that he wasn't going to do it anymore. He was going to turn things around. He was going to clean himself up, do Master Gates proud, and when he'd proved he could do that, then he was going to go the fuck home. He hadn't known, when he decided it, how long it would take and how hard it would be. But he thought about the people he loved, and he was ashamed of himself. He would not go home until he was worthy to go home. No more attempts at bribery, like the thing with Miguel and Catalina. He was going to go home as a whole person. They'd probably scream at him and tell him to leave again, but he was going to do it anyway.

"Master Gates says he never lets anyone go from brown to black as quickly as I did. But he also said nobody else eats, breathes, and sleeps the sport the way I have been. He thinks I've earned it."

"Well, you have put on almost thirty pounds since Christmas," Tray said thoughtfully. "That probably helped."

"Yeah. The gym I've been going to posted a before and after shot of me, on their wall of success stories." He grinned. "Some girl pinned her number to it."

Tray scowled. "I want a before-and-after photo on the wall of my gym."

"They can't do it, because the before part looks too good," Cameron said, leaning over to smooch him. "You can work out all day, Evan, but you will never have my man's beautiful butt."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm crushed, I really am."

"No, you're not," Cameron said playfully. "You're over the moon about earning your black belt."

He grinned. "You caught me."

"So, what's the next step?" Megan asked. "Is there a really, really, dark black belt?"

"There are degrees of black belt. If you make it to the ninth degree, you become a red belt. That takes years, though, and I won't be getting any more shortcuts. Master Gates invited me to see a tournament in a few weeks, where some guys will be trying for red. I can't go, though, I've already missed too much school for my own belt."

It would be a very long time—years—before Harry discovered that he'd made the wrong choice by not attending that tournament.

"You do know that you're, like, scary smart?" Megan said. "You could miss half the semester and you'd still get a four-point."

Harry made a face. "Not exactly. I'll admit that I'm kind of a self-starter on the history, and Latin is not that hard of a language, but the prerequisites are killing me. Do you know I have to take biology?"

Megan pulled a face of mock horror. "Someday you'll explain why, with your intense interest in all things Brazilian, you decided to major in Roman history."

"Learn about one thing at a time? Are you joking? I'm studying classical things because they're _interesting_," he said. "However, they are not as interesting as my bathtub, and I literally cannot stand up anymore. I realize it's still daylight, but I'm just gonna say goodnight right now, because you will not see me again until tomorrow."

"Okay. Congratulations!"

"Thanks."

Harry filled the bath, fell into it, and promptly fell asleep in the hot water, trying to name the objects in his bathroom in Latin. He was woken an hour later by a soft rapping on the door.

"Evan?" Megan was calling. "Are you okay?"

He jerked awake, rubbed water-wrinkled fingers over his face, groaned. "Yeah," he croaked.

"Did you fall asleep?" she tittered.

"Maybe."

"That's so cute."

"Go away, Meg."

"You'll turn into a prune! I'm not going away until I'm sure you're not going to drown in there."

He stood up, feeling like a pile of overcooked noodles. "I'm up," he called. "Now go away."

"Fine," she grumbled.

It seemed quiet when he opened the door of the bathroom, which worried him a bit. Normally his three friends made an unbelievable amount of noise. He secured a towel around his waist and poked his head into the common area.

"Meg? Where did Cam and Tray go?"

She was laying on the floor, drawing something. She looked over her shoulder at him, and smiled wickedly.

"Look at you," she purred. "All that time at the gym really _did_ pay off."

"Oh, shut it," he mumbled. "Where did the guys go?"

"Next door. I brought my stuff over here, I hope you don't mind . . . I figured you'd just be sleeping anyway."

"No, I don't mind."

He watched her for a minute. She had a pair of headphones on, and was humming along with the music while she drew weird distortions of someone's head. He hadn't realized that Megan was so quiet, most of the time. When you got her excited about something, she could really run off at the mouth, but when she was working, she would go for hours without even looking at you.

He thought about his roommate of the previous year and a half—the talkative, overly cheerful Cameron who was currently next door snogging his boyfriend, which was infinitely preferable to doing it here.

"Hey, Megan?"

"Yeah, sexy?"

"Have you and Cam ever talked about switching apartments?"

Megan suddenly turned over so she could look at him, and her eyes were wide with excitement. "No, but we totally should."

"I was just thinking, he and Tray have been together since January, and you'd probably rather be able to work in peace and quiet . . . it might be a good idea for you to take Cam's room in this apartment."

Megan got up and dashed over to give him a hug, which he did not return because he was taking a firm grip on the towel. "It's a great idea. I can't believe _you_ thought of it first."

"Ha, ha. I'm a nice guy now, remember?"

"You are," she said, with a real smile, suddenly more serious than he was. "A very attractive and nice guy who would like to share an apartment with me." She traced a finger over his chest, which raised goosebumps on his arms, among other things. "This could work out very well."

He grabbed her wrist, tight enough to hurt. She looked up at him with pain. "I'm only going to say this once, Megan. That is not going to happen. I'm suggesting the move because it would be convenient for everyone, and we're all friends anyway. I am not inviting you over here with that in mind, and it's not going to happen. Got it?"  
She had a nervous grin on her face. "That's not what your towel says."

"My towel hasn't seen the light of day in two years, so we're not going to pay attention to the towel. I am still madly in love with my ex, and I am not going to start a relationship with you because you would get hurt and I'm not going to do that to my friend. I'm saying this because I care about you, Meg, not because I don't. Okay?"

She nodded, and backed away a little. She had tears in her eyes. "She must be smoking hot, huh?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not trying to compare you to her. She's just . . . part of me. And I'm still not willing to let that part of me go, so I can't get into anything with another girl. Even a girl as wonderful as you are. I'm sorry."

Megan nodded. "I can accept that."

"We can forget about this whole thing, if it helps."

Megan shrugged. "I still think it's a good idea to make the switch with Cam. We'll be okay, right?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, we'll be okay."

"And you, Evan? I didn't mean to bring all this up. Will you be okay?"

He kept his smile in place. "Eventually. You look like you could use a hug, but I'm going to put some clothes on first. Don't go anywhere."

"Shit," Megan whispered when he closed his door. "You're never going to let us in, are you, Ev?"

* * *

_October 2000_

Hermione was striding forward as fast as she could to get to Gringotts before it closed for the day. She walked right past Turncoat, even though she knew that Draco was there today and she should pop in to let him know how her fundraising luncheon had gone. But then, the fundraising luncheon was the reason she was there. She'd raised two hundred and thirty-seven Galleons that needed to be placed into Legacy's vault. It was the Christmas fund for this year, and she didn't really want to have the Christmas fund sitting in her flat overnight.

She maybe should have been paying more attention to what was going on around her, because she didn't even notice that someone was opening the thick wooden door of the bank while she was reaching out for the handle.

The door hit her in the face.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh, ow, ow," she whimpered, clutching her chin.

"I am so sorry! Oh, Merlin, miss, are you alright?"

She drew her hand away from her chin and found blood. "I'm okay, I think," she groaned. "Sorry, I wasn't looking—"

"No, no, it was my fault," the man claimed gallantly, and stretched out his hand slowly so she could see him coming. "May I?"

"Mm," she said in agreement, keeping her mouth shut because tears of pain were smarting in her eyes, and she didn't want to say anything to make him feel bad.

He put his hand under her jaw and raised her face so he could see her chin.

"Ooo, I'm really sorry," Bill Weasley said, blue eyes full of concern. Then he blinked rapidly. "Hermione Granger?"

"One and the same," she said. "Hello, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, please, don't ever call me that. It's Bill."

"All right," she said, trying to smile.

"Here," he said, and tapped his wand at her chin. She felt the pain retreat, and he withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket to dab away the little smear of blood. "There, that's better. I really am sorry, Miss Granger."

"I let people who ram doors in my face call me Hermione," she said, but it only made him wince. "Really, Bill, it's all right. It was my fault, I suspect, I wasn't paying attention. I was just trying to get in before—"

She heard the sound of the catch on the lock of the door, which they were still standing in front of.

"Before they closed?" Bill finished with a sardonic smile. "At the risk of sounding repetitive, I'm sorry. I wish I could say I can get them to let you in for a minute, but even employees of Gringotts can't talk a goblin around. You had a deposit, I take it?" he queried, seeing the bag in her hand.

"Yes. It can wait until morning, I suppose. I was just being how I always am, treating everything like it's life or death."

"I suppose that's understandable," Bill murmured, then bowed a little. "Can I make it up to you?"

"No, it's really quite all right," she assured him. "I think I'd better run over to Turncoat before it closes and see if Draco will put this in his safe for the night."

"Then I will escort you. It's the least I can do."

He would not hear her protests, declaring it to be no inconvenience at all, and they set off up the street. Hermione could not think of anything to say, in particular, since she didn't know Bill at all, so she settled on her standard small-talk amongst the people she dealt with. Work.

"So tell me," she began, "is it strange, to be keeping regular bank hours now? Harry told me you used to go off on all sorts of crazy adventures."

"Actually," Bill said with a smile, "that's why I was there so late today, I've usually left by now. I asked for a meeting so I could request to be sent back into the field."

"You want to return to Egypt?"

"There's also a possibility of doing some work in Asia, but that remains to be seen. I speak a bit of Arabic, so I'm more valuable in Egypt. It's just time to get back in the game, for me. I had returned here because of— well, because of Fleur. So, now . . ."

"I was very sorry to hear about that," Hermione said honestly. "I know that we've never known each other that well, but I thought you were a lovely couple."

"Maybe we were," Bill said morosely. "But it just didn't work out."

Hermione thought he looked very sad, and she put a careful hand on his arm, for just a moment, then withdrew.

"My family never liked her that much, and she didn't feel comfortable around them. I would have said my family could go hang, but it really wore on her and she didn't want to deal with it. And we didn't actually have that much in common, to be honest. She was pretty high-maintenance, as you can imagine, so maybe it was for the best."

"It still sucks, though," Hermione said quietly.

"Yeah, I guess it does," he said, and had a lopsided smile for her. "Didn't mean to share all that. You're an awfully patient person. Anyway, what about you? When's the big announcement?"

"Announcement?" Hermione stuttered. "What sort of rubbish rumours are going around _now_?"

Bill raised his eyebrows. "Everyone in the world is expecting you and Malfoy to announce your engagement any day."

Hermione, forgetting about the bag she carried, threw up her hands and shrieked, out loud, in the street. "Argh! I am not! Dating! Malfoy!_ Ever!_"

Bill had to duck to avoid being hit by a magically shrunken sack of Galleons. "Sorry. I didn't think . . . well, anyway."

"Everyone in the world?" she asked quietly, feeling a bit sheepish over her outburst.

"Well, my brother Ron keeps insisting not, but we always thought he was a bit thick about romance anyway."

"Ron is my hero," she said firmly. "You should listen to Ron."

"I suppose so, since he's the only Weasley brother who currently has any romantic attachments."

"He and Parvati are getting married soon, aren't they?"

"Yeah, in a few months, I think. Hey, I'm seeing a pattern here. Dean and Ginny just got engaged, and they both said they didn't think it was true about you and Malfoy, either."

"The pattern appears to be anyone who has ever interacted with us for more than five minutes, knows better."

Bill chuckled. "I shall include myself in that category from now on." He shook his head. "There's also a pattern of people in my family getting engaged—d'you know my brother Charlie just proposed to that reporter who got so famous during the war? Gertrude Garnet. Nobody even knew they were seeing each other, but that's Charlie for you. Keeps to himself. Maybe you're like that," he winked, "keeping a secret lover on the side, using Malfoy as a front."

"I really need to get myself a boyfriend just to make those rumours go away," Hermione sighed.

Even though she knew it would quell the rumours, she thought it would be _very_ tactless to say that she knew Draco was romantically interested elsewhere. Because he was going back to France in two days to see a portion of the Blois nurseries that he had no practical business use for. Hermione had a very strong suspicion that he was going there just to see Fleur Delacour. Bill was the last person she wanted to share that suspicion with.

"I hear your foundation keeps you very busy."

"Not as much as it used to. I'm trying to give more of the control over to the Fergusons, because I plan to go to work in the Ministry soon."

"Not finished saving the world yet?"

"Not remotely," she grinned. "The werewolves still need a bit of help, and I plan to tackle the problem of house-elves with everything I've got."

"I find myself feeling very sorry for the world that tries to get in your way," Bill smiled. "We're here, by the way."

"Oh. Thank you, Bill."

"Like I said, least I could do."

"Nonsense, you fixed my chin right up. You just wanted to enjoy my company," she said teasingly.

There was a sudden, strange look on his face. "What if I did?"

Hermione was dumbfounded, and had no idea what she could possibly say. Was Bill saying . . . no, couldn't be. The only people who were even remotely interested in going out with her were the blind dates her parents set her up on. No one who knew her . . .

"What if I wait, right here, while you go drop that off?" Bill asked softly. "And then when you come back, I can take you to dinner, so I can enjoy your company a little while longer?"

Hermione nodded, feeling shy for the first time in years, and basically dove into Draco's shop. She made a beeline for the office he kept in the back, ignoring the protest of the person keeping the counter who didn't recognize her right away.

"Draco!" she gasped, nearly falling into his office.

"Granger, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

"You can put this in your office safe for the night. I didn't make it to the bank on time."

She thrust the bag at him. He took it and peered inside, then quirked one eyebrow at her.

"My, Granger. Not only great fundraising, but great spellwork on top of it. This hardly weighs a thing!"

"Just say you'll hang onto it," she said in agony. "And tell me how I look."

"How you look? You look like Hermione Granger, I suppose. What on earth . . . oh," he said suddenly. "There's a _man_. You actually _care_ this time, don't you?"

"Please don't tease me now," she begged. "I left him outside. Just . . . do I look okay? I don't have a tear in my hose or lipstick on my teeth or anything horrifying, right?"

"I don't know," he said with deliberate slowness.

"Draco," she growled.

"Who is he?"

"I'm going to kill you."

"Who, Granger?"

"Bill Weasley," she squeezed out.

He was a bit taken aback. "Really? How did that happen?"

"He hit me with the door at the bank," she admitted. "He felt bad, so he escorted me over here, and then he asked me to dinner."

"Well, don't keep him waiting!" Draco scolded, grabbing her arm and propelling her ahead of him out of the office, back toward the front. "Goodness, Granger, have you no heart?"

"You don't have one!" she fumed. "Oh, my hair is probably a mess . . ."

"Granger," he said firmly, stopping her, turning her, and putting his hands on her shoulders. "You look beautiful. You'll have a lovely time."

She took a shuddering breath, straightened her shoulders, and nodded at him. "Thank you."

"Now, then," he said with gaiety, taking her arm again, and bringing her outside to where Bill was standing with his hands in his pockets, the wind blowing around strands of his hair in a strangely charming way . . . "Hello, Weasley," Draco said pleasantly. "Do take good care of Granger, she's far too important to Legacy for us to lose her."

Bill gaped at him.

"Good evening," he finished, pecking Hermione on the cheek and slipping gracefully back into his store.

Hermione blushed furiously, and shrugged at Bill. "It's my fault, I keep telling him he's like the brother I never had." She tossed her head, and reminded herself that she was young, beautiful, and famous. "Now, that dinner you mentioned . . . I'm starving."

"Are you up for an adventure?"

"I would eat anything," she vowed.

"Good, because you'll have to keep an open mind about the place we're going. It looks like a hole in the wall, but they have great _eish masri_, and I would kill for their _koushari_, it's the only place in England that makes it properly . . ."

Hermione and Bill did not leave the Egyptian café until after they were closed for the night, talking about everything they could think of, and he delivered Hermione to her flat without even asking if he should. He kissed her goodnight without permission, too. She didn't complain.

And a few days later, she ran into him again in his brothers' joke shop, because it was Teddy's third birthday next month and she wanted to get him something special so he wouldn't feel like the birth of his baby sister had made him unimportant. She ended up explaining this to Bill, and he helped her pick something out for Teddy, then they went for a coffee, and he was late for work.

Draco happened to be on the street, and teased her mercilessly because he saw Bill kiss her goodbye when he was running for the bank. But she was able to retaliate all too easily. She'd figured out the truth of his trips to France because he couldn't really hide anything from her. He wasn't interested in Fleur Delacour. He'd set his sights a little higher. He wanted her boss, Mathilde Blois.

She was promptly sworn to secrecy, but she managed to finagle a promise that he wouldn't tease her about Bill, so that worked for her.

* * *

_May 30__th__, 2001_

Megan kept looking out through the blinds on the front window, waiting for Cameron to come home. She'd left the window open so she could hear him coming, too.

He'd been gone all day, working on a short film with another guy and girl from the film school, and Megan was worried about him and had been waiting for him to come back. She didn't want him to go into his apartment until she'd gotten to see him. Evan had been able to hear some of the fights Cam and Tray had been having through his bedroom wall, and they hadn't been very good lately.

Last night, it had been epic. Tray had said some pretty horrible things about Cameron. He was going to be a lawyer, it was something he really wanted, and his dad was going to cut off the money for school if he didn't "find someone more suitable." Which Tray apparently agreed with, and had vowed to be moved out by the time Cameron returned today. The argument had been loud enough that Megan had been able to hear it from the living room.

But Megan didn't even have to wait until she saw Cameron before she knew he'd come back. Like sharks circling blood in the water, the guys who lived downstairs (obnoxious jerks who threw their cigarette butts all over the parking lot and had harassed two girls who lived beside them into walking out on their lease) had figured out that Cameron was in a bad place, and they were moving in for the kill.

"Look, it's the little faggot. Where's the big, bad faggot today?"

(Let it not be said that they were creative, but they did start most of the parking lot scuffles in the complex.)

Megan didn't hear Cameron answer. That was his usual response to the way they treated him, no matter how many times Megan had told him he needed to stand up for himself. Unfortunately, it didn't work as well without his tough, confident boyfriend beside him.

"Hey, he asked you a question, ass bandit," said another one of the Guys Downstairs. Megan never could tell them apart, they were all three complete wankers. "Where's your boyfriend?"

They already knew. They'd probably seen Tray moving out. What assholes.

"We broke up. Leave me alone."

"You shouldn't be alone right now," one of them said in a syrupy-sweet voice. "You need the support of your friends."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Cameron answered in a stronger voice. "I'm just gonna go upstairs and let my friends support me."

Megan looked out and could see one of the Guys Downstairs blocking the stairway.

"No one gave you permission to leave, you queer."

"If you hate gay people so much, why are you so keen on spending time with me?" Cameron asked.

"Oh, we don't want to spend time with you," the guy blocking the stairway said.

Megan could feel her heart beginning to beat too fast, and her fingers were almost numb as she pulled out her phone to call Evan. He should be home by now. She couldn't stop the three guys, and she didn't think Cameron could, either. She didn't want him to get hurt. He was already having such a bad day, and this was just wrong.

"We just wanted to take this opportunity we've got to express some of our feelings about you."

"I always heard it's better to talk about your feelings," one of them smirked.

"Me, I like letting them out in other ways," another one said.

Cameron was backing up, keeping his eyes on them but preparing to run for it. "Seriously, just leave me the fuck alone. I didn't do anything to you."

"I had to watch you and that guy hanging all over each other," one guy suddenly snarled, and he was lunging forward, swinging. Cameron threw his arms up and caught the punch on one of them. "It made me sick. You call that nothing?"

Cameron darted forward, tried to shoulder his way past the guy to get to the stairs and retreat. He knew better than to think he could take on three guys who were bigger, stronger, and more experienced with fighting than he was. He was thrown back, and caught by the other two guys. Megan finally connected to Evan.

"Evan, where the hell are you?" she snarled.

"Walking home," he said in bewilderment. "I'm almost there. What's wrong?"

"The Guys Downstairs have got Cameron," she said desperately. "It's about to be bad."

There was a weird rustling through the phone, and then Evan said in a firm voice, "I'm coming. Can you stall them?"

"I'm going to try."

She hung up, and burst through the door and flew down the stairs, and shoved at the guy who was blocking the staircase and watching the other two guys try to punch Cameron, who was still trying to twist away from them.

"Stop it!" she cried, successfully knocking the guy off-balance. She tried to squeeze past him, but he recovered too fast, and grabbed her by her wrists and jerked her toward him. "Ow!" she screamed in his face, spitting at him and trying to yank away. He had too firm of a grip on her. "Leave him alone!"

"Shut your mouth, you bitch."

"Not nice," she snarled, and tried to slam her heel down on his foot. He dodged it.

"I've only got one use for fag hags like you, and you'd have to get down on your knees."

She heard the breath leaving Cameron in a whoosh, and she turned to look at him, and saw with a sick feeling that he was hanging limply from the arms of one guy, while the other one was kicking him in the stomach.

"Stop! You're going to break his ribs, you idiots!"

"You're right, what's the point?" the one doing the beating laughed, and started in on Cameron's face.

They'd never have done this on their own, Megan thought desperately. It was all of them together. She turned a pleading look on her captor, relaxing and not trying to pull away, letting her hair hang in her eyes.

"Please don't do this," she whispered. "Please."

He laughed.

"Why would you hurt us? It's not fair. We're not even strong enough to fight back."

That seemed to get to him, a little.

"Just let me go, please. Don't hurt me."

He was wavering.

Then someone shouted, and it sounded like a battle cry. Megan was jerked off-balance as the guy pulled her closer to him, and they both watched Evan charge the last few feet toward the fight with a snarl on his lips.

The one who'd been beating on Cameron straightened up, put up his fists, prepared to take Evan on. Evan's arm was too fast for him to block, and he went sailing backward from the power of the fist to his sternum. The guy who'd been holding Cameron dropped him just in time to have his legs swept from under him and crash to the pavement. The first one was getting back up, but Evan was already there again. He grabbed him by the shirt and threw him into the stair railing, and he stayed down. The other guy was still trying to get up, so Evan kicked his leg to make him fall back down, then fell on top of him, putting an arm over his throat, his legs splayed for balance. The guy couldn't breathe, his eyes bugged, and he was crying with panic before the third guy let go of Megan to go help his buddy.

Evan heard him coming. He jumped back up, leaving the crying guy on the ground, and just stared at the guy for a moment. Then his hand flashed out, and Megan couldn't see what he did to the guy's hand, but he fell to his knees screaming.

"You have three options," Evan said calmly, not even breathing hard. "We can call the police and let them deal with this, which will probably end up in you three getting an academic suspension. I can beat all three of you into hamburger, which is my favourite option right now. Or you can crawl back home and leave my friends the fuck alone."

"Fuck you, you psychopath," said the one who was now cradling his hand to his chest.

The one who'd been choked was still crying, and he stumbled to his feet and fled into his apartment. Probably to hide the piss stain on his jeans, Megan thought grimly.

"Damn," Evan said with a manic grin. "He was going to be fun."

The guy who'd been thrown into the metal banister got up with a hand clutched to his face, and said to the one with the injured hand, "Come on," and followed his crying friend into retreat.

The third guy stood up and tried to swing at Evan. Evan grabbed his arm and stepped forward. Almost casually, he slammed his elbow into the guy's face. Which apparently meant he'd had enough, because he ran off after that.

Megan dropped to the ground beside Cameron. "Cam? Are you okay? Oh, shit, Evan, he's hurt."

Evan came over. "Cam, talk to me."

Cam moaned, revealing teeth outlined in blood. Megan winced.

"He's going to need stitches in his lips. Cam? How's your stomach?"

He sobbed. "Hurts."

"Evan, we need to take him to the hospital."

"No," Cameron whispered. "No, I don't have money for that. I don't have health insurance. Don't take me there."

Megan held out her hands, showing how much they were shaking. "I don't know if I can drive. Would you take him?"

"I don't know how to drive," Evan said grimly.

"We could call an ambulance."

"_Please_," Cameron gasped. "Don't. I'd have to drop out of school to pay for that."

Megan looked at Evan, and his face suddenly changed. He'd made a decision. "I'm going to carry him upstairs and see what I can do for him. Megan, listen to me, and do not dare argue with me. You can't come in. Stay in his apartment, and wait there until I tell you it's okay to come over to our place. You hear me?"

Megan scowled. "Why?"

"Megan, I'm serious. I'm going to help him, but you can't watch. You need to stay out."

"Fine," she snapped, and she stormed up the stairs and let herself into Cameron's apartment and slammed the door. Unbeknownst to her, Evan Rivers disappeared for a few minutes, and a young man she didn't know took over the situation.

Harry took a deep breath before he picked Cameron up. Cameron whimpered.

"I know it hurts, Cam. Just hang on."

He carried him as carefully as he could, and brought Cameron into his bedroom, and laid him on the bed. He went to his dresser and dug through his socks and found his wand.

"Okay, Cam. I'm going to help. But you have to do something first. You have to look me in the eyes and swear on everything you hold dear that you will never speak of this to anyone. Not anyone, do you understand? Not Megan, not your mother, not even me. This can never become known by anyone."

Cameron squinted at him painfully through his one good eye, the other one swelling badly. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter. Just promise me."

"Okay."

"Now close your eyes."

Cameron tried to, but he started shivering, and opened them again. "I can't," he muttered. "I'm sorry, I just . . ."

Harry understood. He was frightened and in pain, which was why most people getting medical treatment were given drugs. So he sat down on the bed, and put Cameron's head in his lap, and made sure Cameron could see his face.

"Cameron. Trust me. I promise you can trust me. Close your eyes."

Cameron shook his head, and blood oozed down his cheek.

"This won't hurt," Harry said softly, putting a hand on his friend's hair.

Cameron closed his eyes.

He was able to cast the necessary spells nonverbally, to his relief. He knew it wasn't a complete fix, and there were potions that could do it more precisely. But it would be good enough. The bruising on Cam's ribs and in his abdomen would be mostly fixed, and he wouldn't need stitches in his mouth. Most importantly, he wouldn't be pissing blood or possibly dying of the trauma to his left kidney. There would be some residual pain, but Muggle pain relievers ought to work for that.

"You can open them now," Harry said.

His eyes popped open. "Whoa. What did you just do? I feel . . . better."

"I told you, you can't talk about it."

"How could I talk about it, I don't even know what you did!"

"Cam," he said severely. "Not ever. Not even to say you don't know. Do you understand?"

Cameron sat up, frowning. "Yeah, I guess so."

"How do you feel?"

"Okay."

Harry's sigh of relief almost blew the walls down. "Thank god. Thank god I did it right."

"What would have happened if you did it wrong?"

Harry sighed again. "I would have had to take you to a special hospital, where I would have been arrested, and most likely deported, and you would have been treated then had your memory wiped of all knowledge of me. Megan would have lost her memory of me, as well. They'd probably even track Tray down."

"Uh . . . that's creepy as hell, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes. That's why you're not going to talk about it. They ever catch wind of this, and that will happen."

"Arrest, deportation, mind raping."

"Yeah."

"Not going to talk about it," Cameron said fervently. "Because as weird and ludicrous as that might sound coming from anyone else, I believe it when you say it."

"I could take away your memory of this ever happening," Harry offered. "If you don't want the responsibility."

"What would you do, hypnotize me?"

"Something like that."

"No," Cameron said. "No, don't do it. I'm okay with this. With, with knowing more about you, even if it's, like, really scary. It would suck if I didn't even know how big of a risk you just took to help me." He smiled, a little shyly. "I didn't even think you liked me that much."

Harry started laughing, not because it was funny, but because he was relieved. Maybe it was Cameron's artistic side that was so willing to accept the stranger parts of him.

"Are you kidding? You and Megan are the only people I even _know_ in this whole city."

"If you're trying to complain about it, I'm going to tell you that it's your own fault."

"No, I'm not complaining. I'm just pointing out that of all the tens of thousands of people around here, you're one of the two I've wanted to have in my life."

"Oh," Cameron said in shock. He sat there for a good thirty seconds before he said, "Geez, Evan, you could have said that _before_. I thought you barely tolerated us."

Harry snickered. "You see me spending all my time with someone else? I'm busy with school and work and jiu-jitsu, but when I'm free, I'm with you guys. I'm just . . . a really private person. Some of that's me, and some is just how much I can't tell you without getting all of us in trouble."

Cameron traced a finger over the blanket on his bed. "So . . . could you tell me your real name?"

Harry jerked in surprise. "What?"

"Look, it's okay. I don't think even Megan knows it. I just . . . I don't know why I know. Just something about the way you are. Evan's not your real name. What is it?"

"Not going to tell you," Harry said at last. "I've gotten really attached to the name Evan."

"What about where you're really from?"

"Are you really that much more observant than everyone else?"

"I'm crazy in love with Heath Ledger," Cameron admitted with a smirk. "And your accent isn't always right."

"Damn, kid."

"Is there anything you _can_ talk about?"

"Roman history," Harry said firmly. "I can have a very detailed discussion with you about a whole succession of emperors. Or Roman religion, for that matter. Or both. I have to start getting serious about the huge paper I'm going to be writing next semester on how the structure of the Roman government influenced the way they reinterpreted certain Greek gods."

"You are so _weird_, Evan!" Cameron laughed. "How do you manage to be such a geek and kick so much ass at the same time?"

"Because I'm awesome," he drawled. "I have _got_ to show you and Megan some basic self-defense. I'll try to schmooze the office into letting the three of us have a bigger apartment farther away from those guys, but you really ought to know how to fight back."

Cameron smiled at him, but it didn't last long, and then he was pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs, hiding his face.

"I can't believe Tray just left like that. I was being so stupid last night, telling him I wouldn't miss him, and then I find out I can't even last one day . . . I can't pay the rent by myself, anyway. I'm so stupid."

"Cam. Tray's the one who was being a jerk, not you. Don't even start thinking this was your fault somehow, or that this happened because there's something wrong with you. Just don't even go there. You can miss him and be mad at him at the same time, that's normal. If you want, you can declare this to be a shitty week, and go into it expecting that everything will suck. Just let me and Megan take care of you for a while, okay?"

He nodded, even though he didn't raise his face, and Harry started knocking on the wall to let Megan know she could come over now.

* * *

_June 6__th__, 2001_

Sirius was working quietly in his office, grading papers. He did a lot of quiet grading in his office, these days. He actually didn't mind this life. When he was young, he'd always thought he'd spend his life doing something dangerous and glamorous. Then he'd gone to Azkaban, then he'd run off with Harry, and somewhere along the way, being a middle-aged schoolteacher who didn't do anything exciting stopped seeming like a bad thing. Kids got detention, accidently set things on fire, but nothing too life-threatening.

He did still get to be impulsive, sometimes. _Somebody_ had to be the cool uncle for the Lupin kids, and it sure wasn't Jeremy. He got to be the one who took Teddy flying and gave him ice cream after his bedtime, and when Winnie got old enough, he'd do it for her, too.

When his godchildren crossed his mind, he stopped grading long enough to look at the picture he'd put on his desk and smile. He'd be with his family for the summer soon enough, but for now, he had this. Dora had taken the photo only a few weeks ago. Remus had come home a bit late because they had some fourth-year troublemakers who had a very special relationship with their Muggle Studies teacher—they liked to create obstacles for his wheelchair, and he was incredibly good-natured about it. Remus had missed dinner because the three students had Permanently Stuck his Floo powder just a few maddening inches out of his reach. He'd arrived just in time to see Teddy off to bed, but Teddy had been upset about not getting to see his father, so he got to stay up a bit late.

In the photo, Remus was holding his 11-month-old daughter in the crook of one arm, and Teddy was sitting on his lap, leaning against the unoccupied part of his chest. Teddy kept blinking and nodding his head, but he was manfully holding up the book that Remus was reading to him. Sirius liked having the picture on his desk, because it helped remind him that he wasn't just a pathetic old bachelor. He did have a family. Maybe he wasn't married, maybe he didn't have kids of his own, but he had the two little sprites, and then there was—

"Hermione!" he said in surprise, when he saw her walking into his office. "What are you doing at Hogwarts? I thought checking up on the kids was Addison's job, now."

"It is," she said, and Sirius finally saw that her eyes were red and she was sort of wilted-looking. He came around his desk to guide her into a chair. "I'm just having a bad day and thought it would be nice to see a friendly face."

"You and Bill had another row?" he guessed. They'd had a very lovely first month or so as a couple, then they were in the newspaper all the time, then they'd started fighting, and the relationship had been nothing but misery since Christmas.

Tears squeezed out of Hermione's eyes, even though she was obviously trying not to cry. "He's decided to move back to Egypt."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "You don't think it'll blow over?"

She shook her head. "Not this time. We said such horrible things to each other, Sirius. It was all 'your career is more important than your relationship' from him, and 'you're pressuring me too much' from me. Then all of a sudden it was about how he's still in love with Fleur, and I'm still in love with Harry, and we're never going to be able to be happy with each other because we both compare each other to them." She sniffled, and he started kneading his fingers into her shoulders, shocked at how tense she was. He knew she had a lot on her plate, trying to work in two Ministry departments at once as well as help with Legacy, but he suspected it was the fight with Bill that had her so knotted up. "I think I'm glad we finally said that. Just to have it out in the open."

"I'm not sure that him moving away is going to solve anything."

"Maybe not, but we need to put distance between us or we'll just fall right back into the trap of trying to keep this thing alive. We're not right for each other, but it was better than being lonely. I just can't fight with him, anymore."

"I agree, that he put too much pressure on you. You had barely even gotten to know him before he tried to propose the first time. And he forgets that you're only twenty-one and hardly ready to settle down yet. But he's probably right about some of it, too. You never have given him much of yourself."

Suddenly, Hermione was sobbing, and he drew her to her feet so he could hold her while she cried.

"I'm never going to be over him, Sirius. No matter how amazing the next guy is, he's still not going to be Harry. I can't give much of myself to anyone, don't you see? He took it with him, when he left."

Sirius knew how she felt. He'd tried meeting women. It hadn't worked. They were pretty or smart or fun to be around, but they weren't _her_. So he patted the girl's back and tried to say sympathetic things. She was his daughter-in-law, in his mind. Family. He was glad she knew she could come here for this kind of thing. Her own parents had pushed her and pushed her about marrying Bill until she was barely talking to them.

She finally cried herself out, then started apologizing. Sirius wouldn't let her.

"Come on, sweetheart. Why don't you go wash up, and then we'll go over to Hogsmeade and have something to drink and cheer you up a bit."

"I don't want to be cheerful," she whined as he dragged her along. "I want to feel sorry for myself and lock myself in my room with tissues and chocolate."

"You came to the wrong place, then," he replied. "Which you already know, so you can't fool me. You came all the way to Hogwarts to cry on _my_ shoulder because you knew I'd force you to have a few drinks and make you laugh. Otherwise you'd have gone to Draco because he'd let you get away with being miserable."

"He's in France again," she sighed.

"Did he move there without telling anyone?"

"No, but I think he might be proposing to Madamoiselle Blois this weekend."

"Bully for him," Sirius said, slightly surprised that Draco Malfoy was proposing to anyone. He wondered if Draco would start by explaining the financial and social benefits of the proposal, and then wondered if a woman like Mathilde Blois might not find that sort of thing romantic. She was even more ruthless than he was. "I'm glad you came to me, in any case. End of the term, barely left my office in a week, you know how it is."

They went to the Hog's Head, because if a reporter showed up wanting to ask Hermione if it was true that her boyfriend was leaving the country, Aberforth would toss them out on their ear. Aberforth left the two of them alone, beyond setting a couple of glasses on the end of the bar for Sirius to pick up.

"You can't get me drunk, Sirius," Hermione said sternly. "It's a Wednesday, for goodness' sake. I have work in the morning."

"No, you don't. _You_ will be taking the day off."

"Oh, will I?"

"Yes. You will likely spend the morning in bed, moaning about your hangover. Then you will spend the afternoon doing something nice for yourself. Go shopping or to the spa or something."

"Sirius, I hate shopping. And I wouldn't even know where to find a spa, had I the inclination to go, which I don't. I _like_ work."

"Stay home and read a book. Wish I could. Myabe I'll take up a book group this summer. I'll need some kind of excuse to get away from the midgets once in a while."

"Oh, please, you love those kids to death."

"They're so noisy, and underfoot," he protested. "Simon threatens to kill himself every summer. Or to move to Thistle Ridge. Whatever it takes to get away from the rugrats."

"Doesn't he spend half the summer at Thistle Ridge, anyway?"

"Nearly. I tell him that he can have Kimberly and Colin over to the house whenever he wants to, but the boys would rather go to her place. I understand, obviously. Jeremy and Addison made that place a teenager's paradise. I don't know what they're going to do with it once the last of the kids is gone."

"Didn't I tell you?" Hermione smiled. "They're just going to keep using it as a group home. There will always be students looking for a place to stay during the summer."

"True. Not everyone is lucky enough to have had friends like James Potter," Sirius said. "Did I ever tell you that? That I ran away from home and moved in with James' family when we were sixteen?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, you didn't. I think it's wonderful that you could, though."

"It was the beginning of the rest of my life, I guess. It was how close we got, that summer, that led to me being his best man in the wedding, and to being Harry's godfather. And that's taken me all the way to today."

"Do you think about him often?" Hermione asked quietly. "Harry, I mean?"

Sirius shrugged. "Less than I did, but that means twice a day instead of ten times."

"Have you thought about trying to look for him again?"

Sirius shook his head. "He knows where home is, and he'll be here when he's ready to be."

Hermione nodded. "And we'll keep waiting for him, won't we?"

"Can't really help it."

"He told me not to wait."

"Which makes it even more clear that he wasn't thinking straight, back then."

"Sirius . . . what if he hurt himself? What if he's dead?"

Sirius scrubbed his hands over his face. "I've thought about all of that, and more. What if he wants to come back, but can't for some reason? What if he's ill or in trouble and he needs me? What if he's happy where he is and would hate me for barging into his life?"

Hermione sighed. "Or what if we can't find him at all?"

"Maybe I'm only being a coward, for not looking. I just can't help but think that if I did, it would be sort of disrespectful to him. He wanted to leave, and didn't want to be found, and he'd feel betrayed if I went looking for him anyway. He's too resourceful not to reach out to me, if he needed help. No, he'll be back someday— or not. I have to accept that."

Hermione nodded, and smiled. "It's like that day he went to meet Reed, and didn't tell anyone he was going anywhere. He was missing all day and we thought something terrible had happened. Then he just strolled in, hands in his pockets, like nothing was wrong."

"He never really felt the need to explain himself to anyone. You either got him or you didn't get him, and he didn't care either way."

"If he thinks he's going to get away with that this time . . ." Hermione said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Oh, I think he's probably well aware that he'll have to have a damn good explanation," Sirius said.

They reminisced about Harry, and drank just a little too much, and pretended that it didn't still hurt quite as much as it really did. It was how they'd always gotten by.

* * *

_November 6__th__, 2001_

Megan came home from work quite late—she'd begun to hate her job, but she did still perform it conscientiously. If things needed doing after they closed at eleven, she would stay until they were done. Consequently, she was exhausted. And she smelled disgusting, like fried chicken. She felt gross and unlovely and tired.

Didn't stop her from throwing herself onto the sofa in the living room, despite the fact that it was currently occupied by Evan and about six textbooks. He saw her coming and didn't even protest, just closed his book and put an arm around her when she dropped onto him.

"Long day?" he asked.

Evan, being a bartender, had performed basically the same maneuver on occasion, although he usually smelled more like tequila than fried chicken.

"You know how it is," she sighed, content to be laying down and sympathized with.

"I guess I do."

"I'm going to take a shower and go over to Ben's place."

"No, you're not," he said with conviction. "Well, you _are_ going to take a shower, because really, you're gross," he teased, fending off the punch she threw at him, "but you're not going to Ben's. I forbid you to work for seven hours, then get dolled up for a guy who doesn't even appreciate you. No. You're going to bed."

She made a face. "Yes, Dad."

"What a good, obedient daughter you are."

"Cram it, Ev. If Ben is happy with me, then Ben comes home with me for Thanksgiving. Ben is interning with Intel next semester. Ben will make my folks very, very happy."

Evan rolled his eyes. "Meg, this conversation happened a long time ago. You don't care what they think. You are doing what makes you happy and what you want to do for the rest of your life. You think you're in love with Ben because he's pretty, but he doesn't treat you well. So, you're going to dump the parent-pleasing Ben, and date somebody who is good to you."

She scowled.

"Aren't you, Megan?"

"If I was going to do that, I'd be dating you," she complained. "I don't know any guys who are good to me."

"Take Cam home for Thanksgiving," Evan suggested lightly. "He's a gifted film director and he'll make scads of money, your parents would love him and it would get you through the holiday."

"He did offer . . ." Megan said thoughtfully. "Since Tray isn't around to go home with."

"There, problem solved. Say goodbye to Benjamin."

"Why do you hate Ben so much? Why do you always hate the guys I'm seeing? Half of them run away from my crazy roommate before I even get to date them." She was sort of hoping he'd say he was jealous.

"Because you always date jerks," Evan said promptly. "This one's a slimeball. Gets what he wants and doesn't care about anything else. I heard him talking to his roommate when I picked you up from his place the other day, they're trying to figure out a way to cheat on their finals." They had finally taught Evan how to drive, so now he kind of shared Megan's car with her. "He just isn't a good person."

Megan sighed. "Whatever. I don't love him or anything."

"I know. You're gonna find somebody, Meg, I know you will. But it's not going to happen until you figure out how much you deserve."

"What about you, Evan?" she asked, annoyed with him for being so optimistic when she was feeling like crap. "When are you going to figure out that you deserve some happiness?"  
He stared at the wall, his lips tight.

"Evan?" she asked in alarm, pulling away from his arm so she could look at him better. He hadn't shut down like this in a long time.

"I'm graduating in a few weeks," he said.

Megan gasped. "But you've barely been here for three years!"

"I know. I've been overloading on classes, doing summer school, anything to keep me busy, and I am going to have my degree at the end of this term."

"Well . . . that's great. I think. Does Cam know?"

Evan shook his head.

Megan jumped up and went to Cameron's room and knocked. He opened the door to reveal that he was wearing nothing but sweatpants and a befuddled expression.

"Oops, did I wake you up?"

"Megan," he growled, running one hand through his tousled hair. "My camera will be rolling at seven o'clock in the morning, which means I'm waking up at five. This had better be good."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out into their living room. "Evan says he's about to graduate."

Cameron stared at Evan. "You're finishing in three years?"

"Megan, I was going to tell him in the morning."

"But you and I were talking about it, and it didn't feel right not to have Cam out here."

"Why?" Cameron asked blearily, sinking down onto the part of the sofa that Evan wasn't using.

"Look at him," Megan said bleakly.

Evan was closed-off. Not smiling. Not meeting their eyes.

"Oh, no," Cam whispered. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

Evan nodded.

"I guess we should have known . . . you never stay in one place very long, do you?"

Evan took a deep breath, and then he pulled a manila folder out from the midst of his study materials. "Guys, it's not what you're thinking."

"You're going to stay?"

"No. But I'm not running off, either. I'm—" He closed his eyes. "I want to show you guys something." He opened the folder.

"Newspaper clippings?" Megan frowned.

"This is that newspaper I read that I don't let you guys see, and that you don't get to ask about. I've been collecting these out of the paper for the last few months. One of the things you don't know about me, because you're not supposed to, is that in the place I'm really from, I'm famous. My whole family is famous. And they're in the newspaper a lot. If I'd stayed home, I'd be in the paper every damn day, which is part of the reason I'm here, instead."

"So, you're showing us . . ."

"I want you to meet my family," he said, and he sounded so hesitant that Cameron shoved his books onto the floor so he could sit beside Evan and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I got this from an article about changes taking place at the school I attended when I was a teenager. My godfather is a teacher there. This is my godfather, John."

He displayed the photo (which he did not tell them he'd frozen in place so it wouldn't move).

Megan whistled. "Ev, you should have said your godfather was totally sexy. Does he really wear that to teach in?"

"He really does," Evan smiled. "And he's too charming to get in trouble for it."

"What does he teach?"

"Ah, that's one of the things I can't actually tell you. Sorry."

"I want to see more pictures," Megan said with enthusiasm.

"This is a picture of several people. The man in the photo, I call him my other godfather because he and John have been friends since they were little kids. The woman in the photo is Re— Ri— Rick's wife, and they're pictured with their kids. The older one is sort of their foster kid. The little boy was supposed to be my godson. I was there when he was born, and his middle name is Evan. But I . . . I left right after that. I didn't even know they had a little girl until I saw this in the paper."

They looked at the photo, trying to give Evan space and pretend they didn't see how wet his eyes were.

"Your godson is adorable," Megan smiled.

"Would it be really rude to ask why your, um, other godfather is in a wheelchair?"

That was the wrong question, if they were trying to help Evan not cry, because he nearly started to.

"It was my fault," he whispered hoarsely. "Remember when I said that I broke the legs of the man who cut my face? They did that to him in retaliation."

Cameron scooted closer and put his arm around Evan. He didn't really think it would help. Evan wasn't one for hugs and being close. But the standoffish man slumped down and let Cameron hug him, burying his face in his hands.

"You don't know how hard that would be on him, I can't explain how bad things were for him even before that . . . And it's my fault."

They had never seen Evan cry. Not once in three years. But this was so close to it that there was hardly a difference, with his hitching breath and letting Cameron comfort him.

"It isn't your fault," Megan said fiercely, kneeling down in front of him so he could see her. "So maybe you hurt a guy a little bit. He was hurting you, first. What he did to your friend Rick was so far beyond that. It's horrible and cruel and violent and sick. It absolutely wasn't your fault, Evan. The only person who's at fault is the one who did it."

Evan nodded a little, and lifted his face. "Guys, just— back off, a little. Sorry. I'm sorry. Just let me get control of myself, okay? I want to show you the rest of the pictures."

Megan and Cameron looked at one another, both tempted to push Evan further, because the last thing he really needed was more control of himself. But the pictures were important to him, so they let it go.

"Ah, I feel stupid even showing you this guy, but, well. It's hard to explain. He was kind of an enemy, but his father was the real bad guy, and he ran away, and I hid him from his dad and convinced John to let him work in our house. And after I left, my family basically adopted him. Well, he was already sort of family, because Rick's wife is his cousin. Anyway, he's turning himself into this successful businessman, and apparently he's got himself engaged to this French heiress now . . . Good for him, and all. These two—"

"You mean these twenty," Megan said in bewilderment.

"The two adults to the side. The kids are orphans, and those two run the orphanage. They used to live with us, because their home got destroyed."

"Wait, how many people lived in your house?" Cameron interrupted.

Evan smiled. "Me, my godfather, Rick and his wife and their foster kid, these two, another guy who's dead now, the blond guy Drake kind of did, and my girlfriend lived there for a while, too."

Cameron snickered. "I always wondered why you never had a problem sharing a place with an artist chick and a gay guy. You're just used to weird living situations. My god, that must be a huge house you guys had."

"Yeah, it was. It was great, though. It was just me and John at first, and it was way too big and lonely, especially when I was off at school. So it was great when Rick moved in, and then he left again to um, do some work that I can't talk about, and he got married, but they lost everything and came back to live with us, along with four other people who'd been targeted in that attack. My girlfriend and I had dropped out of school by then, so there were ten people living there, and one of them was pregnant."

"_You_, Evan? You dropped out of school?"

"Yeah. My godfather had to quit teaching for a while, too."

"Why?"

"To make it harder to find us," he shrugged.

"Harder for who?"

Evan shook his head.

"All this time, we've thought you had some tragic and dysfunctional family history you were trying to run away from, like it had to do with your godfather's criminal record or something . . . geez, Ev, what were you involved in?"

"You remember that story you made up about me, Cam? Being MI-6 and all that?"

"Yeah."

"It was pretty close, I told you that. But I didn't work for the government."

"What?" Megan said, her jaw dropping.

"I guess you'd call us vigilantes. The government couldn't stop these terrorists, and we thought we could. So we did."

"You . . . did?"

"They were after me especially. Don't ask why, please tell me you won't ask why."

"Okay."

"So they were after me. And things finally came to a head one night. They attacked the school I had been going to, to get to me. There was this one guy in particular, their leader, who just . . . killed people. All the time. And I sort of gave myself up, because I thought that if I did, it would save all those kids. And I got shot. And I died. I fucking died, and got resuscitated. And I got up, and I found the bad guy, and I stopped him. And then I ran away. Right then. I'd just been dead for a minute, and my hand was kind of destroyed, and I just ran for it because I'd been doing some pretty terrible things to people in the name of fighting terrorism, and I'd just watched a friend of mine get murdered because of me. . ."

He stopped talking because they were staring at him in shock.

"You seriously died?" Cameron asked softly.

"For a minute," he said grimly. "I knew if I told people, they would try to tell me I was never actually dead. But I . . . saw something. Talked to something. It told me I could go, if I wanted to."

"Geez, I'd have started drinking, too," Cameron muttered.

Evan had dropped his face into his hands again. "I'd never wanted anything so much. I'd found out I was just as ruthless as the people I was fighting, and I'd been expecting to die for _months_, and I just wanted to fucking die already. But it gave me a choice, and I knew I had responsibilities, but I didn't _want_ them. I just wanted to be Evan Rivers. It was all I had ever wanted. To not be important. To just be this guy that didn't matter. I wanted to go to college and do whatever the hell I felt like doing without being in the newspaper. So I ran away. And I left them all behind, and I was so selfish to do it. I am such a selfish bastard. They hate me, they have to hate me for what I did to them. My family hates me."

He wasn't able to talk anymore, so Megan shoved her way onto the sofa, and she and Cameron sat on either side of him, holding him up while he tried to pull himself together. It took a while. Megan wished he'd just cry and get everything out of his system. They'd both cried all over him enough times for things far less important.

"Can I say something, Evan?" Cameron asked.

"Sure," he choked.

"I think you're wrong about something."

"Wrong about everything," he muttered.

"If I were your family, I wouldn't hate you. I'd have seen a long time ago that you weren't happy and that you needed to get away from everything. I'd be very, very worried about you, I'm sure. If I knew that you had been injured so badly, and that you'd run off without getting help, I'd be terrified for you. You're this amazingly patient and caring person, and I can only imagine how it must be to be someone you _really_ shared yourself with. If I were them, I'd miss you a lot. I'd be devastated that you were gone. But hate you? Never."

It was Megan he leaned into as he listened to Cameron's words, letting her go so far as to card her fingers through his unkempt hair.

"You really think so?"

"I do."

Evan closed his eyes and let Megan take care of him. Cameron chuckled.

"You look so much younger than you are, when you're laying there like that."

Evan chuckled back. "So, about that. I created all the paperwork for myself when I was pretty young, and I made myself older, because I wanted to be able to get a job, sign documents, that kind of thing. I'm not twenty-five. I'm twenty-one."

"What?"

"When I came here, I was only eighteen."

Megan breathed out a laugh. "Exactly how old were you when you started, you know, fighting terrorists?"

"Fourteen."

"I changed my mind about your godfather. He's a jackass."

"No, it wasn't his fault. Not at all. I'd been a target since I was born, and he hid me from it as long as he could. He gave up everything for me, more than once."

The conviction in his words burned the air around them, so Megan didn't try to argue it.

"How old were you when all that stuff happened, with you getting shot and everything?"

"Seventeen. I spent a year hitchhiking in Japan, and living in Rio, and then I came here."

"Why San Diego, though? What made you pick here?"

"I like surfing. I know I don't do a lot of it, but I like having the opportunity. I learned how in Rio when I was a kid."

"Surfing," Megan smirked, shaking her head. Then her attention was caught. "Hey, Evan."

"What?"

"There's a picture you didn't show us yet."

"Oh, right," he said, and suddenly a smile was breaking over his face. A pure, joyful smile.

"It's her, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"What's her name?"

"Hermione," he said, and then looked surprised by himself. But he was looking at the picture with them, and he didn't lose his smile. "That's my Hermione."

"She's beautiful, Evan."

"I know."

"She's dressed very sharp. What's she do?"

"She was running a non-profit foundation for a while, which got that orphanage off the ground and paid for the kids' schooling. She's also sort of a lobbyist, I guess you could say. She is almost directly responsible for the fact that people with certain disabilities can get jobs now. There was a lot of discrimination against Rick, and that couple who run the orphanage, because of this illness they have, but she and a couple of people in the government have made enormous progress. I had worked with them in the beginning, and I'm amazed how quickly they got all this done. She's so brilliant. And now she's actually in the government, working full-time to make sure civil rights are being protected. She's just amazing. She went straight from school into all of that, and she's so successful."

"She sounds like a hard worker."

"She's so much more than that. She's a visionary. She knows what she wants the world to look like, and she won't stop until it does. And she's strong. Just so strong. The world keeps trying to beat her down, but she never stops."

"She's really special, isn't she?"

"I never knew what I was looking for in a girl until I met her. And we were so good together, you can't imagine what it was like. She wouldn't let me go it alone. She wanted to be with me and take care of me, and no matter how guilty I felt for putting her in danger, I was always so happy she was there. She saved me, so many times. And she let me save her, sometimes, too."

"It seems like you guys must have been awfully young when you were together."

"Yeah, we were, but neither of us was ever all that young, I don't think. We were inseperable for two years. And then I left her, just like that. If anyone has a right to hate me, it's her."

"She doesn't," Megan said with conviction.

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm a girl. Trust me, she doesn't hate you. Although she's probably pretty mad at you."

"Just try to make this even harder than it already is, I dare you."

"What's harder?"

"Oh," Cameron said suddenly, sitting up straight. "Oh, Evan. Really?"

"What?" Megan asked, mystified.

"Why do you think he showed us all the pictures, at the same time he told us he's about to finish school?"

Megan frowned. "Ev? Are you?"

He reached out and put his finger on the picture of his friend Rick's family. "The little one, Teddy. He's going to be four years old in just a few weeks. When I realized that . . . I've missed too many birthdays already. I'm doing everything I can to see if I can take my exams a couple of weeks early. I'm hoping to be finished with school before Thanksgiving. Because I want to be home in time for his birthday."

"Didn't you think they hated you? Why would you go back if you thought that?"

"Megan," Cameron scolded.

"I'm not saying he's right, I'm just curious."

"They deserve to tell me how they feel. And I deserve to hear it. If they don't want me to stay, I won't."

"Would you come back here?" Cameron asked hopefully.

"No," Evan said, making both of his friends slump. "It's not that I wouldn't want to. But I've been denying who I really am for too long, and I have to stop. If they don't want me to stay, I won't stay, but I won't go very far, either. I want to be close enough to keep an eye on them. And I won't be useless anymore. I plan to do something with my life. Don't know what yet, but I can't keep living for just myself. Evan Rivers does that, and it's past time for me to admit that I'm not him."

"So, who are you, then?" Cameron begged. "Just tell us."

"My name is Harry," he said. "I still can't tell you the rest, but my name is Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry."

"And now that we finally know, you're leaving," Megan said. "Oh my god, you're really just going to leave. And you won't come back, will you?"

He shook his head. Megan started to cry.

"It's not for a few more weeks," he said, taking her hand.

"But I'm going to miss you."

"We're both going to miss you," Cameron said. "You're a good friend, Harry."

He nodded soberly, and then he was the one putting his arm around Cameron. Goodbyes were still weeks away, but he knew he'd be studying very hard until then. His last day of work was tomorrow, so he'd have enough time to finish school. He could finally admit he had friends here, good friends, just in time to lose them.

"I'll miss you, too."

* * *

_November 24__th__, 2001_

When asked what he wanted for his birthday, Teddy had said that he wanted the whole family to come home and eat cake with him. They'd tried to cajole him into saying that he wanted his friends Malachi and Victor from his play group to come, or even that he wanted his own racing broom or a pony. Teddy didn't care. He said the whole family, eating cake.

He was a very stubborn just-turned-four-year-old, Sirius reflected as they cut into the chocolate cake with its _very important_ sprinkles. He was so adorable and so overpoweringly insistent that Simon had gotten out of a detention for Teddy's birthday. And Draco, who was supposed to be in France wooing his fiancée, had instead brought her here. There was a rich and elegant French woman in Sirius' house because Teddy had cried when Draco tried to get out of the party.

Was it such a good match, for Miss Blois, that she'd agree to be here just for the sake of a peaceful engagement? It certainly was for Draco, but this Mathilde Blois was twenty-six years old and a major player in European finance. She was going out on a limb, with this cousin of his.

"Don't look now," Sirius murmured to Remus, "but I think the little ferret has actually managed to make her fall in love with him."

Remus, never one to take orders, looked. She was licking frosting off her finger with a little laugh, eyes on her fiancé. She'd grown up in splendor, but appeared to have no problem with two grubby little kids and a bunch of werewolves. "Huh. Who would have thought?"

"Gentlemen," Hermione said gaily, setting pieces of cake down in front of them. "Almost seems a shame to eat it, after all the work Dora and Addison had to decorate it."

"Almost," Sirius said with a grin, digging in. "What do you think?" he murmured, nodding just slightly in the direction of the couple.

Hermione shook her head. "It hardly matters what I think."

"You two have been as close to best mates as makes no difference, for the last four years. It matters." Sirius tugged her into a seat, making her eat cake even though she declared herself not to be in need of the calories.

"I think she's lovely," Hermione admitted. "She asked me about my work. She actually knew what I was talking about."

Teddy came over and climbed into his dad's lap. He looked dejected. Surprised, Remus held him close.

"What's the matter, son?"

"I didn't get my wish," he said glumly.

"I thought your wish was to have the whole family over."

Teddy nodded. "I even wished on my birthday candles, but it didn't work."

Remus and Sirius frowned at one another, and Sirius shrugged. Remus was on his own with this one. He had no idea what Teddy was talking about.

"Everyone's here, though," Remus pointed out.

Teddy scowled, and didn't say anything else. Remus shot a questioning look at Dora, but she shrugged as she bravely began the work of cleaning cake off Winnie. She didn't know what was wrong with Teddy, either.

They heard somebody knocking at the door, and everyone except Miss Blois felt a moment of panic, checked on the location of their wands. It was automatic, a habit. Even Simon did it.

Well, not Teddy. He jumped from his father's lap and shot down the hall.

"Teddy, don't!" Remus called out, backing away from the table and experiencing the daily frustration of not being able to keep up with his son.

Sirius hurried after Teddy, but Teddy was already cracking open the door and peering out.

"It worked!" Teddy shouted. "The candles worked!"

"Uh, hello," said a soft voice from beyond the door.

Sirius' heart thudded, and he just stopped moving. No. Couldn't be . . .

"I have a picture of you," Teddy said, going shy and hiding half of himself behind the door. "You're my other godfather. My dad says I get to have two because I'm special."

"You are special," that soft voice said. "Especially on your birthday. I brought you a gift. I know it won't make up for missing all your other birthdays, but—"

"You brought me a present?" Teddy said eagerly, and swung the door all the way open. "You hafta put it on the table until after cake," he said.

But the young man hadn't even crossed the threshold. He had seen Sirius standing behind Teddy, and they were staring at one another. Sirius could hear his own ragged breathing, and it was the only thing that convinced him this was actually happening.

"Well, who is it?" Remus called out curiously.

"Look, Uncle Padfoot, I got my birthday wish," Teddy said with pride. "My Uncle Harry came home."

Sirius took a step forward. Then another, and another, until he was standing at the door where Harry was waiting with an anxious expression. He didn't make a single motion to come inside. He looked really good, Sirius thought with surprise. He was a bit taller, had filled out quite a bit, had nice clothes on. He was . . . grown up.

"Sirius," he said, and bowed his head, looking at the ground. "I am so sorry, for everything. I was wrong, and selfish, and . . . I'm not here to make excuses. I just came to give Teddy his present and to let you know that I'm here. I've got a room at the Leaky Cauldron. I know you'll have things you want to say to me, so you can find me there. I know how you must hate me, but I don't want to ruin Teddy's party, so I'll just be there whenever—"

Sirius took the last step forward, and put his arms around Harry, and the boy was so surprised that he shut up his rambling nonsense.

"The only thing I have to say," Sirius said hoarsely, "is welcome back."

Harry sucked in a deep breath. "You don't hate me?" he whispered.

"No, I don't."

Harry took another breath, and another, each one a little less controlled and a little more shaky.

"I was so afraid to come back," he squeezed out.

"This is your home, and you can always, _always_ come back. I love you, kiddo."

Harry let go of everything. He buried his face in Sirius' shoulder, grabbed onto him, and wept. It might have been a minute, it might have been an hour. Sirius didn't care. His boy was home, and nothing else mattered.

"Remus, babe, who's here?" Dora called out curiously, still struggling with their messy seventeen-month-old daughter.

Remus didn't answer because he was staring, and everyone started to spill out into the hallway, and they all fell silent as they saw the prodigal sobbing in his godfather's arms. But they parted to let Hermione pass. She walked forward with a strange sense of calm, her eyes fixed on the dark hair of the man she'd been waiting for all this time.

He raised his face and saw her. He swiped at his eyes, stepped past Sirius, opened his mouth—

"No," Draco said suddenly, and he moved away from his fiancée to stand beside Hermione. He put his arm around her waist, turned his body so that it was almost a shield. "Don't you even fucking talk to her, Potter. You don't have the right."

In truth, none of them were that surprised (although Mathilde Blois at that moment released the last of her inhibitions about falling in love). Not even Harry. He bit his lip and worried at it for a moment. Then he nodded sharply and turned to go.

Hermione slipped away from Draco, with a soft hand on his arm to take the sting out of her words. "You don't speak for me, Draco. You know better."

He clenched his jaw but didn't try to stop her. Harry had paused in the doorway when he heard her speak, and he turned around when she said his name.

"Harry."

He looked hopeful.

She flew forward, and maybe she didn't realize what she was doing, but she had an excuse. She was overwhelmed by it, and she had to let it out somehow. She started hitting him, pounding on his chest and shoulders and slapping at him.

"Where were you?" she shrieked. "Where have you been? How dare you do that to me?"

He bowed his head, accepted it. Then he went slowly to his knees, so that she had to stop or she'd be punching him in the face, and he grabbed her unsteady hands, and he kissed them.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love. I'm going to make it right. I don't care how long it takes, if it's twice as many years before you trust me again. I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again. You keep hating me as long as you have to, but I swear to you that I will make it right. I never could live without you, Hermione."

She stared down at him, anger and pain revealed in the tears running down her face, the way she looked at their entwined hands like it was a foreign concept to her. But her face became slowly softer.

"Harry, your hand," she whispered.

He drew back, releasing her, pulling the damaged hand closer to himself. "It's fine now." He didn't get up. He just knelt on the floor in front of her, waiting, hanging his head in shame.

Hermione slowly knelt down, too. Her hand rose up, cupped his cheek, brought his eyes to hers.

"You're not going to leave again?" she asked.

"Never."

"I'm very angry with you."

"I know. You have the right to be."

She put her other hand on his other cheek, pulled his head forward. She kissed him. "If we have to fight and cry and hurt each other, let's do it tomorrow. Today, I'm just happy that you're home."

"Home," he repeated, and closed his eyes. "I forgot how beautiful that word could be."

He kissed her. Then he looked up to see several people watching, one of whom sat in his father's lap with his thumb in his mouth.

"Can I— can I stay?" he asked softly.

Sirius slammed the door shut. "You think I'm letting you out of my sight anytime in the next ten years?" he growled, then he pulled Harry back to his feet, extended a more gentle hand to Hermione, and steered the both of them to the dining room. "Harry needs a piece of cake, right Teddy? That was your wish."

Teddy nodded with contentment. His whole family was here, and it was his birthday. Life was good.


	26. Encore: Fragments

_**A/N:** I am basing the diplomas being granted in this section off my own diploma from school, so I have no idea how it would really be done by Hogwarts. I made up the "Awards" section just for the fun of it. Also, in my world, students are limited on NEWTs. They must sit a minimum of three and a maximum of seven exams. As for Draco's middle name . . . Google it._

* * *

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

under direction of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

and by virtue of the authority vested in it by the

International Magical Board of Education and its regents

is pleased to present

_Mr. Draco Eltanin Malfoy_

with this certification that he has satisfactorily met all requirements

for graduation from this most illustrious institution.

His honours, as listed below, confer upon him all rights applied

to such distinctions in accordance with current regulations.

NEWTs earned

Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts

Advanced Potions

Intermediate Astronomy

Intermediate Charms

Intermediate Herbology

Intermediate Transfiguration

Awards Earned

Prefect Status, in his fifth and sixth years of study

Special Services to the School, for emergency medical assistance to students

Special Services to the School, for participation in the Battle of Hogwarts

Badge of Merit, granted to members of the Defense League club

Badge of Merit, granted to any student who has earned an Order of Merlin

Badge of Merit, for achieving the highest marks of his tested year in Potions

-o-o-o-

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

under direction of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

and by virtue of the authority vested in it by the

International Magical Board of Education and its regents

is pleased to present

_Ms. Hermione Jean Granger_

with this certification that she has satisfactorily met all requirements

for graduation from this most illustrious institution.

Her honours, as listed below, confer upon her all rights applied

to such distinctions in accordance with current regulations.

NEWTs earned

Advanced Ancient Runes

Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts

Advanced Muggle Studies

Intermediate Charms

Intermediate Herbology

Intermediate History of Magic

Intermediate Potions

Awards Earned

Special Services to the School, for participation in the Battle of Hogwarts

Badge of Merit, granted to members of the Defense League club

Badge of Merit, granted to any student who has earned an Order of Merlin

Badge of Merit, for earning the highest marks of her tested year in Ancient Runes

-o-o-o-

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

under direction of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

and by virtue of the authority vested in it by the

International Magical Board of Education and its regents

is pleased to present

_Mr. Neville Franklin Longbottom_

with this certification that he has satisfactorily met all requirements

for graduation from this most illustrious institution.

His honours, as listed below, confer upon him all rights applied

to such distinctions in accordance with current regulations.

NEWTs earned

Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts

Advanced Herbology

Intermediate Astronomy

Intermediate Charms

Intermediate Transfiguration

Novice Potions

Awards earned

Head Boy Status, in his seventh year of study

Prefect Status, in his fifth and sixth years of study

Special Services to the School, for providing emergency medical assistance to students

Special Services to the School, for providing DADA instruction to students

Special Services to the School, for providing refuge for threatened students

Special Services to the School, for participation in the Battle of Hogwarts

Badge of Merit, granted to members of the Defense League club

Badge of Merit, granted to any student who has earned an Order of Merlin

Badge of Merit, for achieving the highest marks of his tested year in Defense Against the Dark Arts

* * *

Those who have shared in our journey thus far

Are humbly invited to share with us again as we,

Ms. Parvati Patil

And

Mr. Ronald Weasley

pledge our love and lives through our marriage vows

on the 13th of January at half past three o'clock

at the home of Ron's parents, the Burrow.

(Directions can be obtained by owl from either of us!)

* * *

_Dear Trudie,_

_Greetings from your favourite dragon-tamer! Tease me all you like about being a boy who never grew up, but I will always know the truth about your love for dragons. And no, I will never stop teasing you about talking in your sleep. You shouldn't do it if you don't want me to hear. I'd love to hear you do it some more, which is the reason for this letter. I want to invite you to come visit me in Romania so you can see my colony._

_Protest all you like that you're too busy at work, but I know that you'll love it. I've been extremely busy since I got put in charge of the breeding programme, but now my hard work has paid off and I get a break. I want to introduce you to my new hatchlings, because I'm acting like a proud papa and my colleagues are sick of it—I need someone new to show them off to! And maybe you could make an article out of it, so long as you promise not to mention all the horrifying details of dragon breeding. The public does __not__ need to know about some of the fluids I have to handle to do my job._

_All right, I'll stop trying to convince you by explaining what a romantic and dashing figure I cut in my rubber gloves and welding mask. I'll just say I miss you. A lot. I know this relationship was supposed to be a casual thing, but I think about you all the time, lately. (And, based on your last letter to me, it seems you've been spending a not-insignificant amount of __your__ time thinking about __me__.)_

_Merlin, I didn't even know it was possible to babble in a letter. Anyway, if you'd be willing to come, I have something I wanted to talk to you about. And it's something really serious, Gertrude Garnet, so don't say no until you really think about it._

_Hopefully,_

_Charlie Weasley._

_p.s. I lied. You didn't just talk about dragons in your sleep. You said you love me. I didn't want to tell you in case you got embarrassed._

_p.p.s. I love you, too._

* * *

The Ministry of Magic

hereby recognizes the achievements of

Mr. Draco E. Malfoy

who has been awarded the level of Mastery

by the European Guild of Potions-Brewers

and certifies that as a qualified Master Brewer

according to all current Ministry laws

Mr. Malfoy shall be allowed to practice as a Licensed Apothecary

in Britain and all of its territories.

Witnessed by

Amelia Bones, Minister for Magic

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister

Quinina Quicken, Mistress of the European Guild of Potions-Brewers

* * *

The California Board of Regents

by virtue of the authority vested in it by law and

on recommendation of the College Faculty does hereby confer on

_Evan H. Rivers_

the Degree of

Bachelor of Arts

History

Summa Cum Laude

and Certificate of Classical Studies

In the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences

with all the Rights and Privileges there pertaining.

* * *

Name: Kimberly Kearney House: Gryffindor Level: Sixth Year

_Detention(s) Assigned: Cleaning the Owlery_

_Reason for Detention: Prank played on Maura Morgenstern (Slytherin House) involving owl droppings and a tureen of soup_

_Other notes: Just a statement for the record that Miss Morgenstern deserved it, and Miss Kearney has been awarded five points for Gryffindor for displaying loyalty to a friend_

_Assigned by: Professor Sirius Black_

-o-o-o-

_Name: Colin Creevey_

_House: Gryffindor_

_Level: Sixth Year_

_Detention(s) Assigned: Cleaning the Owlery_

_Reason for Detention: Prank played on Maura Morgenstern (Slytherin House) involving owl droppings and a tureen of soup_

_Other notes: Just a statement for the record that Miss Morgenstern deserved it, and Mr. Creevey has been awarded five points for Gryffindor for displaying loyalty to a friend_

_Assigned by: Professor Sirius Black_

-o-o-o-

_Name: Simon Billings_

_House: Gryffindor_

_Level: Sixth Year_

_Detention(s) Assigned: Cleaning the Owlery_

_Reason for Detention: Prank played on Maura Morgenstern (Slytherin House) involving owl droppings and a tureen of soup_

_Other notes: Mr. Billings was provoked by a humiliating experience and I protest having to assign detention, therefore he has been awarded ten points for Gryffindor for showing marvelous restraint_

_Assigned by: Professor Sirius Black_

-o-o-o-

_Name: Maura Morgenstern_

_House: Slytherin_

_Detention Assigned: Must proceed to her common room directly following dinner each evening for the duration of the term, where she will work on a 30-inch essay on why men are not toys, to be handed in no later than the final day of classes_

_Reason for Detention: Humiliating an unsuspecting student by luring him into a broom closet and convincing him to disrobe, then engineering his discovery_

_Other notes: If Miss Morgenstern ever makes another attempt to harm my son, I will request her expulsion from the school_

_Assigned by: Professor Remus Lupin_

* * *

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

and the regents of the International Board of Magical Education

are pleased to present

_Mr. Harry James Potter_

with this recognition of his academic achievements.

This certifies that he has completed all requirements for graduation,

obtained by special dispensation from the abovementioned institutions.

His honours, as listed below, confer upon him all rights applied

to such distinctions in accordance with current regulations.

NEWTs earned

Advanced Ancient Runes

Advanced Astronomy

Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts

Advanced Muggle Studies

Advanced Potions

Intermediate Herbology

Intermediate Transfiguration

Awards earned

Special Services to the School, for providing DADA instruction to students

Special Services to the School, for emergency medical assistance to students

Special Services to the School, for participation in the Battle of Hogwarts

Badge of Merit, granted to members of the Defense League club

Badge of Merit, granted to any student who has earned an Order of Merlin

* * *

_England Signs Harry Potter_

_Recently returned Saviour joins national Quidditch team_

_What is there to say, but that we are all eagerly anticipating the coming Quidditch season? Potter needs no introduction, but some may be surprised to learn that Quidditch Seeker is on Potter's long list of talents. We all know he earned an Order of Merlin, First Class, for his contributions to the recent war, and we all know he is the one who ultimately brought down Voldemort. But many of us may not know that before he dropped out of school to join the war, he not only earned high academic distinctions, but was instrumental in Gryffindor's Quidditch team winning the cup two years in a row._

_Now, after his absence of several years, Potter is ready for more than just a return to magical Britain. He is ready to make a name for himself all over again. Says team manager Patrick Podmore, "We're all very excited about this. We're just honoured to have Potter join the team. If his game is anything like his try-out, we'll have an undefeated season!" Forward Chaser Marcus Lilliput agrees: "Watching Potter on a broom is practically a privilege. I can't wait for the season to begin!"_

_Potter himself was not available for comment, but will appear at a press conference next week in which the team will answer questions about the coming season. Due to the excitement created by the news, they have agreed to open the conference to the public . . ._

* * *

Draco, Mathilde—

It's a boy! We named him James! Here's a photo!

-o-o-o-

Dear Mr. James Sirius Miguel Potter,

Thank you for the picture of yourself, in which you appear very adorable. Please inform your parents that they gave you far more names than one person needs. Please also inform your parents that the birth of their firstborn is a great time to think about getting married. We happen to know for a fact that spring is a lovely time for a wedding.

Love,

Your Aunt Mattie, and your friend Draco who refuses to be called "Uncle Anything" for some reason


	27. Encore: The Missing Piece

Hermione was considered the envy of witches the world over, which she found hilarious. She was reflecting on this as she was striding (she had rather forgotten there was such a pace as a leisurely walk) from her own office in the Deparment of Magical Law Enforcement, to her husband's office in the Department of Education.

On the surface, it looked pretty good, her life. She was a pretty, talented, well-connected—enough so that she'd had the option of marrying the likes of Bill Weasley and Draco Malfoy. And now, she was married to a man who'd graced the covers of everything from _Magical Creatures Quarterly_ for his relationship with merpeople to _Witch Weekly's "Superlatives" Issue _for Best Body and Most Charming Smile. They had an adorable, intelligent, and high-spirited four-year-old that made them incredibly happy. They both worked high-profile jobs in the Ministry, but they had far more money than it warranted, because Harry had played four years of professional Quidditch and put away almost every penny of it.

It looked good, but it had been the hardest and most painful journey Hermione could imagine. She wouldn't trade what she had, not for anything, but she wouldn't wish what she'd gone through to get it on anyone. Having the man you loved go missing for four years was bad enough, but the fact that he was the most aggravating man in the world made it almost as hard to accept him back. He'd decided, when he'd come back, that the best way to deal with his fear of fame was to immediately join the professional Quidditch league. So, the two of them were working for werewolf rights on top of their regular jobs, and then Hermione was pregnant, and then they had James. Who was a beautiful boy, but whose parents had never so much as brought up the topic of marriage. Hermione's life with Harry had been almost as painful and uncertain as her life without him.

When James was two, Hermione had come home one day and her son hadn't been there. It was just Harry. He'd cooked dinner for her, and when they were cleaning up in the kitchen afterward, Harry had suddenly dropped to both knees and begged her to marry him. She'd been so stunned and angry that he was springing this on her when he'd never mentioned that he even thought about marriage, she almost said no. She did glare at him for awhile, but he just bowed his head like he was prepared to accept it if she said she didn't want him. So she'd said yes. The next day, Hermione woke up thinking about the fact that it was Teddy's eighth birthday. Suddenly she'd rolled over in bed and woke her fiancee up with fierce kisses interspersed with tears and apologies for her attitude. She had figured it out. Harry hadn't felt like he was able to propose until he'd been back for the same amount of time he'd been gone. Which was just another stab in the heart, really.

So they'd married, and after Harry had led England's team to win the Quidditch World Cup for the second year in a row, he'd decided he was finished and left the sport entirely. He'd filled his days up after that with any number of things, all of which he called "nothing much," from assignments with Vanderlay Securities to experimental projects in the Turncoat Research Laboratories, to guest lectures in Sirius' class. He'd briefly worked under his old friend Oliver Wood as an assistant coach for the Puddlemere United Quidditch team. He'd also managed to get his master's degree in Roman history during that time. Hermione had despaired that he was ever going to grow up and settle down, even as a married man with a child.

Then, when James was three, and they realized it was time to start his education, Harry abruptly got serious. There was no system in place for James. He had known, but not really understood, that England did not have schools for magical children. That before Hogwarts, almost all of its students were homeschooled. Harry didn't have any problem with teaching James anything and everything, but that wasn't the point, to him. There were any number of children being disadvantaged by inferior education prior to beginning their formal schooling. He didn't like it, and he took education far too seriously to ignore the situation.

So he got himself hired in the Department of Education at the Ministry of Magic. And just two months ago, he'd campaigned for and won the position of Head of the Department. He'd immediately begun to work on his master plan, without any waste of time. He was setting up a curriculum guideline and trying to forge support for private schools for magical children between the ages of four and ten. He was trying to create a system that would test these children every year to ensure they were on track. His own son was getting a decent education from Molly Weasley, who had a ton of experience and was one of the first people Harry planned to recommend as a teacher once the first school got up and running. He had designs on the first headmaster, as well, who was working in the Department of Education with him until they could get a school going.

So, Hermione's life finally felt like one she could admit was enviable. Harry was still entirely aggravating, though, as she noted when she walked into his department and saw him and his right hand wearing identical expressions of exhaustion and short temperedness.

"You could always tell everyone you'd been out drinking last night," she said lightly, sitting down at her husband's desk and sending a smile at Remus.

Harry's entire face lit up when he saw her, and that . . . That was the reason this was all worth it. Hermione found it impossible to feel unappreciated or ugly or not worthwhile. She was Harry's whole reason for being, and she knew it. Having him finally find a focus for his life, other than her, was actually kind of nice, so she hadn't been at all upset about the amount of time he was giving to this project.

Remus gave a weak chuckle. "But since everyone and their mother already knows I'm a werewolf, there's little point."

"They're probably starting to wonder if you've turned me," Harry answered, his own humour just as weak.

And this was why he was still aggravating, but infinitely beautiful and loveable at the same time. He stayed with Remus, every full moon, the whole night. Things being as they were, it was an incredibly difficult time for Remus, and he'd always refused to let his wife see him that way. He was no more able to walk as a werewolf than he was as a man, and it was even harder to be disabled as an animal. The wolf mind that came out on the full moons would whisper to him that he was old, and sick, and should be abandoned, that his pack shouldn't waste their time on him . . . So Harry stayed up with him, all night, keeping him in his right mind, thinking that it was his duty because it was all his fault . . . Sometimes, despite the Wolfsbane, Remus would lose his human focus, would harm himself, and Harry would stop him. It was a bad night for everyone.

The two of them made quite a pair, the day after. Dejected, tired, and depressed, and generally in need of something to break them out of it. So, here she was.

"I feel quite certain in saying that you two haven't eaten a thing today," she said, withdrawing a tiny basket from her pocket, and pulling her wand with the other hand. She restored the basket's original size. "Picnic lunch, anyone?"

"When did you put that together?" Harry asked in amazement.

"James helped me with it while you were in the shower."

"You mean James made a mess of the kitchen while you packed it," Harry said dryly.

"Something like that," she smiled.

"Which means you made this, cleaned up James and the kitchen, and shrunk it before I got out of the shower."

"Yes," she said, a little surprised by his statement of the obvious. It wasn't his usual thing.

Harry turned to Remus. "Have I expounded lately on how amazing and incredible my wife is?" "I believe you have."

"Well, I wasn't finished. My wife is an almost psychotically talented witch, and she's beautiful, and she pretty much wins at everything."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "I would like to say that my wife is better, but you might hurt me."

"That's why I wanted him here," Harry said to Hermione with satisfaction. "He's so smart."

Hermione giggled, and felt accomplished. She'd fulfilled her mission. Harry and Remus were smiling now, and looking a little less like something the cat had dragged in.

"Dora and I are having dinner with Jeremy and Ad tomorrow night, speaking of my wife. I'm supposed to ask if you wouldn't mind having the kids at your place so we can have some official grown-up time."

"Of course," Hermione said after a brief flick of her eyes to confirm it with Harry. "Jeremy and Ad spend enough time looking after our kid."

"I'm surprised the little snitch has left them enough house to have company over to," Harry smirked. James was a bit rambunctious, if one was inclined to understatement.

"He's hardly any worse than Winnie," Remus shrugged. Teddy had a tendency to be quiet and patient, but his daughter made it a point to be the exact opposite of her older brother.

Hermione shook her head, knowing exactly how much more exciteable her son was than Winnie. But the movement made her notice something. "Harry."

He was busy rummaging in the picnic basket. "Hnnh?"

"Did you know you've got a letter, here?" Hermione said, pointing the international post sitting on top of his inbox.

"No," he said, pulling his attention away from the food to look at it. "Must have come while I was talking to Kingsley."

"Who do you know in America?"

"Just Cameron and Megan," he said, interested now, and taking the letter from her. He'd stayed in contact with his college roommates, and she'd been able to meet them once. They'd rather fawned over her, which had been embarrassing, but she'd liked them for taking care of Harry when she couldn't. "And obviously neither of them would write to me here." He slit open the outer envelope, and withdrew a plain one from within.

His breath caught.

"Harry?"

He stared at the envelope in his hands.

"Babe? What's wrong?"

"You are never going to believe this," he muttered, and took the letter out of the envelope. He didn't say anything else for several minutes. Remus and Hermione looked at one another with worry, but all they could do was wait.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It is a great honour to be addressing you, and I hope this letter will find you and your family well. At this point you are most likely wondering who I am and why I am writing to you, but I hope that you will bear with me until that comes into the story. Yes, a story—I beg for your patience as I try to explain by telling you about my life._

_While my earliest memories are hazy thoughts of another country, I spent the majority of my childhood in San Francisco, in the United States. I lived there with my uncle, who owned a martial arts studio there, and my mother. After the move, she quickly completed her education, and then became a college professor of South American literature. We were very successful and my childhood was very happy. But there were a few "incidents" that made it clear I was not a normal child, and it was not long before my mother and uncle (for they both raised me) were seeking out some other people that might not be considered strictly normal._

_I imagine you are beginning to suspect the truth at this point (indeed, wizards had to come into the tale eventually, for me to be writing you!) and you are correct. It turned out that I was a wizard and I was sent to a school in Oregon, which was widely considered the best American school for instructing young wizards in their craft. I learned your name through our studies of wizarding world history—your name was __the__ name to know when it came to recent history. I don't know if you would have been so famous in my area, if it weren't for the way you used to disappear and travel around. But I became a great admirer of yours, and I decided to use you as the subject of a class project this year. My knowledge of you because of my research comes into the story, but bear with me._

_I spoke very enthusiastically of you to my mother and my uncle, as well as my other studies, because I do love being a wizard. It's always been plain to me that my family is Muggle to the core, and I always meant to ask them about who my father had been, but the time never seemed to be right. Recently, the decision was made for me._

_It came about when I was telling a story, this past summer, about your godfather. I told my mother she would have been impressed to see a schoolteacher who was so integral to your war with Voldemort. I did not notice right away how fascinated she was by the story of Sirius Black, but when I told her that he not only survived the war, but continues to teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, she burst into tears and ran from the room. I was, as you can imagine, a little confused. I figured out quickly that my shock was nothing compared to hers, hearing about Sirius Black and finding out that the stories I had been telling them were stories of a person they knew! In the end, it was my uncle who told me the truth of just how closely I was connected to my childhood hero—to you, Mr. Potter._

_I have struggled for several months now, trying to decide whether or not to write you, but now I think I should, because my family's grief is too much for me to ignore. I don't think you'll recognize the name on the envelope, the name I've always gone by, because why should you know the name Richard Oliveira? I spent my entire childhood correcting people who thought my name was Ricardo, not understanding why my first name would be English. Even I didn't know the full name printed on my birth certificate until just a few months ago. I am Richard Miguel Oliveira Black. You knew my mother and my uncle when you were a child, Catalina and Miguel Oliveira. They assure me that my father and my (dare I say this?) brother did not know of my existence and had no reason to suspect it. So now you have been told. Your godfather had a child of his own, and I'm almost fifteen years old._

_I am sorry, because I know that this letter will come as quite a shock, but you have to know that I felt the same way when I realized the truth. Mr. Potter, I'm not asking Mr. Black or you for anything. My family left Brazil afraid for their lives, but we've been very happy since then, and my uncle said that moving to California was the best thing we could have done. My mother has become well-known in her field, and my uncle spends his days doing something he loves. I'm sure that because you're such a celebrity, you get a lot of requests for help from a lot of people, but this letter isn't like that. I just wanted you both to know, and it was a lot easier to find your address than my father's. I know that you have a family of your own, and that you're probably very happy with them and with your life as it is. This information is yours; it's your choice what you do with it. But I think you should know that my mother and uncle have said they are proud of you._

_Respectfully,_

_Richard Oliveira Black_

* * *

He had noticed himself fidgeting like a junkie needing a fix, and he had tried to get a grip on himself. The only way he could do it was to sit completely still, which probably made him look just as weird. Assuming anyone was looking, since he'd chosen an utterly random café for this meeting and there shouldn't be anyone paying attention to him.

He couldn't stand the sitting still. Agitated, he ran his hands through his black curls, taking a deep breath. He had to be cool about this. He was the one who always knew what he was doing. The one they looked to, to be calm and collected, no matter the situation.

But who was he kidding? He'd never done anything like this before. Harry had arranged everything for him, all he had to do was show up. Apparently, Harry was the calm one who always knew what he was doing. He would have to find some way to tell Harry how much he appreciated the help. After he survived this, of course. Assuming he did survive.

Then, there he was. Standing in the door of the café, looking uncertain. And he looked just like him. Same black hair, same lean and wide-shouldered build. He probably should have expected that. His look-alike was striding across the room, looking like a man on a mission.

With a deep breath, he stood up.

"I guess we don't really need introductions, after all," he said with a weak smile.

They just stared for a while. He'd never thought eyes could be starving, but looking at him was like feeding a starving belly, so it must be true. He'd always wondered. And now he knew. At long last, he knew.

"Hi, there," said the chipper voice of the server who'd been standing behind the counter and was now beside the table. "Can I get you guys anything?"

Spell broken, they let their eyes turn to the young man with the pink hair.

"Coffee," the newcomer said hoarsely.

The pink-haired server nodded and turned to him. "Refill on yours?"

"Please," he mumbled, and they sat down. "Um, thanks for coming. You . . . Uh, you didn't have to. So thanks."

"Didn't have to?" Suddenly the older man reached across the table and grabbed his hand, squeezing it so hard he bit back a noise of pain. "I only wish I had known to come sooner. I had no idea, Richard. Is that okay? If I call you Richard?"

He nodded, and then he was blinking back tears. He'd never cried about the missing father in his life, not once, and now that he had appeared, Richard was crying, how stupid was that? But Sirius had jumped up from his seat again and come to his side of the table and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked very uncomfortable.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "For not being there for you and your mother. Did she tell you anything about, well, what happened?" "Not really," he answered, trying to get a hold of himself. "I just never asked. I had Mama and Tio Miguel, and that was always enough for me. It wasn't hard to figure out that my father was a white guy, and a wizard, and I thought . . . Never mind."

"It's okay. Tell me what you thought."

"That my father was some guy who used my mother and ran off."

The man that right now he could only think of as Professor Black, the man from the newspaper stories, was sitting back down in his own seat, a look of sick grief on his face. "That's close enough," he said quietly, and accepted his coffee from their server.

Richard shook his head. "No. Harry explained some of it to me. I know you didn't have much of a choice. I guess I didn't expect him to be so open, since he doesn't know me. Is he always like that?"

Surprisingly, Professor Black laughed. "No, not really. But he has a very strong belief in family. You'll get used to him. Have you talked to him much yet?"

Richard shrugged. "Just a couple of phone calls. He seems really cool."

"He's a good guy, my godson. The cameras love him, anyway." Professor Black gripped his coffee. "I don't know what you want to do about all of this. If you want to stay out of the newspapers . . . Don't think that I'd ever be ashamed of you, because I never would be. But if you don't want to get hounded by reporters, we'd have to keep this a secret."

Now, this was the reason that Richard had been sitting here for an hour with his heart pounding and his hands fidgeting with everything they touched. He placed them palms down on the top of the table, just in case he started doing it again.

"I don't really care about that," he admitted. "You know that I found out about this because I was doing a report for school about Harry? When they told me I was related to the famous Professor Black, I was totally excited. How cool is that, you know?"

The man stared at him for a minute, then let out a whooshing breath. "And here I thought I already knew what it was like to have a fifteen-year-old kid. I always forget that Harry was not a normal teenager."

Richard felt like this was not going well. He felt like the enormous gap between them was getting bigger instead of closing. He didn't know what to say anymore.

"Mama says I'm not very normal, either. She says I'm too responsible and studious."

Professor Black barked out a laugh, at that. "So the complete opposite of what I was when I was your age."

"Really?" Richard asked, wanting to know anything and everything, but not knowing how to ask.

But that was it. That was all they needed, because suddenly Professor Black was telling him stories about boys named James and Remus and himself when they were Richard's age. Pranks, jokes, sneaking out in the middle of the night, werewolves and Animagi, girls and falling in love. Then the stories became more serious, and they were stories about James getting married and having a baby in the midst of a war.

Richard knew the story from this point forward, from his research, but he was enthralled with his father's version of events. They didn't notice when they ordered turkey sandwiches or when they switched to water because they'd been drinking too much coffee. They didn't notice customers coming in, leaving, the pink-haired server finishing his shift and being replaced by a girl with a tattoo of a panda bear on her wrist. They spent hours talking about everything that had been happening, during the time that Richard had been growing up without a father.

His mother called him, frantic, to tell him that he was an hour late and she knew she shouldn't have let him go alone, and had he been kidnapped or something. He told her that he was fine, still at the café, and she awkwardly told him that he needed to come home because it was getting dark.

He cast a careful look over the man who sat opposite him.

"I'm safe, Mama. My father won't let anything happen to me."

She was silent, then. For a long time. Finally, she said, "I know he won't," and hung up.

Richard put his cell phone down, feeling embarrassed. Professor Black— _Sirius_ — picked it up and looked it over with interest.

"I've never seen one of these before," he explained, turning it over in his hands. "It's like a regular phone, just without the cord, right?"

Richard tried not to laugh. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Convenient, I guess. But they can break, can't they?"

"Yeah, if you're not careful with them."

Sirius nodded. "Well, then. I'll have to teach you how to cast the spell for a communicative Patronus."

"Huh? Like the Patronus charm? We don't learn that at my school until our final year."

Sirius smiled. "I taught it to Harry when he was twelve. You could probably figure it out. But the communicative Patronus is different, it twists the typical Patronus charm so that you can send it as a messenger to someone, in case you're in an emergency. Can't be broken, and only someone who is familiar with you could follow its trail."

Richard opened his mouth and closed it.

"What?"

"I was going to tease you about being paranoid, but you did kind of fight in a war."

"Sorry. Everybody back home is like that. Well, not the sprites, but even Teddy picked up a few of our habits."

Richard, once again, didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he was doing here, really. He might be this man's only natural-born son, but he wasn't family. Not like those people in England were.

Sirius stood up suddenly, and threw some money on the table. Richard checked it quickly to be sure it was U.S. dollars, then tried to protest against it, but Sirius brushed off the protests.

"Come on, I'd better take you home. I have to talk to your mother about all of this. Obviously, I can't just announce I have a kid without talking to her about it."

He looked very apprehensive about the idea.

"Do you even want to? Announce it, I mean?"

Sirius stopped walking. He turned to Richard, a cautious look on his face. Then, suddenly, the slender teenager was engulfed in a huge embrace, just the kind of thing he used to wonder about when he was younger and less mature about this stuff. And it felt . . . it felt like home. He hadn't even imagined it would feel like this.

"You're my son," Sirius said quietly. "The world can go hang for all I care, but you're my son and now that I've found you I am never letting you go. You'd better get used to that."

Richard nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Well. Harry had tried to warn him.

* * *

Sirius had found the café simply by handing the address to the first cab driver he'd found at the airport, which was the most horrifyingly expensive thing imaginable. Richard was a little more canny about the bus routes, and insisted that he wanted to show Sirius San Francisco's famous cable cars, if he was still here tomorrow.

If. What a strange word, and one that made Sirius' heart ache. Of course he would be here tomorrow. His son, this amazing gift he'd been given, didn't even know him, or he'd know better than to question whether Sirius would disappear in the night.

"I've always wondered what those are like," Sirius said with a smile.

Richard grinned back, and it was like looking at a photograph of himself from his school days—almost, anyway. Richard was, if anything, more handsome than he had ever been. The hair and the build were the same, and the face was almost an exact likeness, but he had a few gifts from his mother. The honey-toned skin, warm brown eyes, and sheer elegance of his movements were all from her. And they worked on him, thank Merlin, instead of making him look too pretty to be a boy.

They chatted about Richard as they travelled.

"I'm in the Advanced classes for Magical History and Wizarding Literature," Richard admitted when Sirius asked him about school.

"What does that entail?" Sirius asked, mystified by the very idea of a class on magical literature.

"A lot of extra work in history, is all. But the lit course is pretty cool. We actually got a little training in how to read ancient runes, so we could look at really old stuff, but we spent a unit studying wizard's fairy tales, and then another unit on great novels by wizards."

"What other sorts of classes do you take?" Sirius asked, desperately hoping his son did not walk around with his head in the clouds.

"I'm in the regular third level—we don't start as early as kids in England do—anyway, third level for Arithmancy, Astronomy, Charms, and Transfiguration. Next year I'm going replace my literature class with Magical Creatures."

"That must be like our Care of Magical Creatures class."

"Care? No, this one is just to learn about them. All different types, the domesticated ones, wild ones, Dark creatures, and all the way up to doing a unit on wizard transformations, like vampirism and lycanthropy."

"That kind of stuff comes up more in my class," Sirius said in surprise.

Richard shrugged. "We don't learn the kind of stuff you teach, not in the classroom. There's an extra-curricular club to learn duelling and defensive techniques, but all the spells come up in our other classes." He looked wistful. "I wish we had a class for defensive magic. That would be so cool."

"Are you in that club?"

"Of course!" Richard said, sounding scandalized. "My _tio_ would kill me if I didn't supplement his lessons with the wizarding equivalent."

"So Miguel keeps you in pretty good shape, does he?"

Richard nodded happily. "He says he's going to make me start at the bottom when I get old enough for the adult class, but I should be able to move through the first couple of belts really quickly. Did you know Miguel has his _red belt_? He got it a long time ago, actually, like, six years ago. He's so good."

Sirius shrugged. "You'd have to talk to Harry about the belt classifications. I never had any formal training, just lessons from your uncle."

"Where did Harry train?"

"Here, actually. Well, in San Diego, but here in California. He was probably just leaving about the time Miguel got that red belt. He says he's black belt, which is great. We still practice on each other, when we find the time. He usually destroys me." He smiled at Richard. "Maybe you and I can do that, sometime. I think it could be fun."

Richard gave him a shy smile, which made his heart leap. This was working out better than he'd believed. Richard signalled the driver and then led him off the bus. They only had to walk a very short distance to his house. The house he lived in with his mother. Catalina. Sirius had sort of hoped Miguel would live here, too, because he thought it would take some of the tension out of it. But according to Richard, Miguel was married and had a nine-year-old daughter and seven-year-old son, so Sirius was just going to have to do this one his own.

Richard paused with his key in the lock of the front door, and took a deep breath. Sirius was stunned by, but certainly not complaining about, how quickly they'd been able to bond. Whatever happened with Catalina, his son was still going to exist, and that changed his perspective on any number of things. So he laid his arm over Richard's shoulder, and they stepped into the house. Together.

"I hope your mother isn't too angry with me for making you so late," Sirius said cautiously, hearing no noise as they entered. "She always did have . . ."

What she always had, Richard would never hear. Because she was standing on the other side of the front room, leaning lightly on her hand, which she'd placed on the wall where a hallway led off from the room. She was the same. Just the same. Beautiful. Captivating. He couldn't look away, even if he wanted to. He was bespelled.

"Cat—" he breathed.

She stood up straighter, and gave him a hard look. He began to notice the little things. Her body had fuller curves, which was not a bad thing at all. She had lines around her mouth, a few crinkles at her eyes. So did he. A thin streak of silver in her hair. So what? She was forty years old, and he was forty-eight, so those things didn't bother him.

It was the way the wrinkles told him that she'd laughed. The way the smooth muscles of her calves, below her knee-length skirt, showed him that she still danced. The way her polite, respectful, son took school so seriously and so obviously adored his Mama. It meant that she was still the same woman, just more mature and even more amazing.

"You haven't changed at all," he said in surprise.

"Neither have you," she answered.

"That's not true," he said quietly. "I have."

"How so?"

"If I had to do it over again, I'd never have left you behind," he blurted out, and tried not to wince. He hadn't felt this much like a dunderheaded schoolboy since he _was_ one.

"Alas, life does not allow us to do things over again," she said starchly.

He wondered if she could see how much it hurt him to think that she was still angry with him after all this time.

"Not even things that are so important?" he asked.

"Did you come here to try to beg me for another chance at this?"

"No, I came here for my son. But I can't say the idea never crossed my mind. I always wondered about you. I'd convinced myself that you married, had a family, that I wouldn't be welcome in your life. But I never forgot."

"I'm not easy to forget, Sirius Black."

"No, you aren't," he smiled.

"And neither are you, for all that you are such a bastard," she said, and crossed the room so quickly he'd have sworn she Apparated. She was standing right in front of him. "And here we are. We never married anyone, we never stopped thinking about each other, and we're the parents of the most wonderful boy in the world. And there is no reason why we shouldn't try, is there?"

"I can think of about a thousand reasons we probably shouldn't," he said dryly, and immediately cursed himself for his flippant mouth.

"So can I, but I'm ignoring them for a moment. I just need to know if this is how I remember it—"

He hadn't been kissed like this in fifteen years, and it was exactly how he remembered it. He should be stunned that it was happening this way. That he'd met his son and hit it off with him right away, that he'd walked into the Oliveira household as a stranger and been kissed in under five minutes. But he wasn't surprised at all. Because falling in love with Cat had always been so very easy, for him.

* * *

October had been a really inconvenient month for Richard to write that letter, all told. Harry had contacted the kid, discovered him to be bright, funny, and responsible, and had immediately arranged for Sirius and Richard to meet. But between October and Christmas, Sirius had taken a total of three weeks of time off, to make a few trips to San Francisco. Harry and Remus were both too busy in the Department of Education to cover substitute teaching for him, and Neville hadn't been able to clear out his schedule. Just when Sirius had begun to think he wouldn't get to make his second trip, Dora had volunteered to fill in for him—she'd gone back to the Aurors when Winnie was five, and she was way overdue for some time off. She had the requisite knowledge, and after the time spent on her hell-raising ten- and eight-year-old children, a classroom full of teenagers didn't seem too hard to her.

Of course, now that Christmas hols were here, Sirius wasn't taking advantage of it to make another trip. He'd come back from his first trip gushing about Richard, but very tight-lipped about Catalina, so Harry hadn't suggested that he and Hermione go to visit. He'd waited. And waited. Wondered what in hell was going on between Sirius and Catalina. And now it turned out that Catalina and Richard were spending Christmas here in England, with them.

"Sirius," Harry said mildly, "sit down."

"What?" "You're pacing. We're not going to the airport for an hour, yet. Sit down, relax. There's an open bottle of wine, here, let's have a glass."

Harry poured two glasses, and sat down in the chair opposite his godfather, in front of the fire in the study. Sirius was staring at him. Harry felt his face turning red, even before Sirius asked, but he knew he didn't have to be embarrassed about this conversation. Not with Sirius.

"You're drinking?"

Harry rolled the stem of the glass between his fingers. "Not often. And not alone. But Hermione and I have talked about it quite a bit, and I'm going to see how this goes. It's James, mostly. I don't want him to grow up thinking of alcohol as something that's scary or unmanageable. He needs to be able to see his mother and I being responsible about drinking. That's what we think, anyway. What do you think?"

"It sounds like the right idea," Sirius said, mulling it over. Then he smiled and raised his glass. "Here's to you, then, Harry."

They took their first sip, inhaled slowly to get the taste. Then Harry went back to twirling his glass while Sirius took another sip of his. Sirius lifted his brow.

"Sounds good on paper, harder in practice?"

"Something like that," Harry said quietly. In truth, it hadn't been a problem yet. It just made him nervous. He didn't even know why, since he was so certain that he could do exactly what he was setting out to do. But the whole thing was making him recall the person he'd been seven years ago, and he didn't like remembering that.

"Harry, you've made me so proud," Sirius said, rather abruptly. "Look at you. You're here, you made it. An adult, with a wife and a son. A son who reminds me a great deal more of your father than of you, I might add. But you have a good life, and you're doing right by then. You've done well, kiddo."

Harry smiled, knowing it looked painful. "Thanks."

"What's wrong?"

"I've just been thinking a bit about all of this. I don't deserve it. I shouldn't have found it before you did, not with the way I acted—"

"Harry. Stop. I'm not even going to argue with you, okay? Whether or not you believe you deserve it is something that's up to you, at this point. Not to mention what I believe I deserve. But I figured out a long time ago that life doesn't always give us what we deserve, and thank whatever powers be, for that. You were given a wonderful family, and you are working hard to do right by them. That's enough. Now I've been given the same thing, and I'm doing everything I can, and I hope it will be enough. Does that make sense?"

Harry nodded, and took a sip of his wine. "Richard seems like such a great kid, Sirius. I hope he makes you far more proud than I can."

"He is a great kid," Sirius said, completely avoiding Harry's self-effacement. He had gotten good at that. "He's frighteningly mature, and he studies too much, but he's really funny, too."

"I noticed that, when I talked to him. I'm really happy for you, Sirius. And I'm excited about seeing Catalina again. This is going to be great."

Sirius looked concerned. "I don't even really have a house for them to visit, you know? I pretty much gave this place to Remus's family, and there's kids underfoot all the time, and—"

Harry sighed. Loudly.

"What?"

"You're usually so much more intelligent than this, Sirius. Come on. Miguel has kids, it's not as if they're not used to it. And it's not as though they don't understand that you work at a boarding school, since Richard attends one. I know you're nervous about making a good impression, but at least pick something realistic to worry about."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that you should get your coat, so we can leave. We don't want to be late to the airport."

Harry was enormously gratified by the way Sirius jumped to his feet with a squawk of panic, demanding to know what time it was.

* * *

Harry might consider it entirely normal to be given a gigantic hug by a woman who immediately began to babble about how grown-up he was, but Hermione was surprised to be given similar treatment. Then it was Remus and Dora's turn, who both received enthusiastic kisses on each cheek and exclamations of how nice it was to finally meet them. Teddy and Winnie submitted to it with good graces, but James hid behind his mother.

Richard was slightly more reserved, offering handshakes all around. His handshake for Harry was maybe a bit more enthusiastic, and the two of them decided quickly that they felt no qualms about calling one another "brother," no matter the technical details of bloodline.

"It's a shame your uncle couldn't come," Hermione said to Richard, when Sirius, Catalina, and Harry began reminiscing about some finer point of their history in Rio de Janeiro. "I would have loved to meet him, as well."

Richard grinned. "I know, that would have been awesome. But it's their year to go to Colorado to have Christmas with Ellen's family. Ellen's his wife. My cousins are Beatriz and Gabriel. They're pretty cool, for kids."

Hermione tried not to laugh. Fifteen had once seemed pretty grown-up to her.

"But you and Harry should go visit him sometime, I know he'd like that," Richard added.

"Maybe we'll come with Sirius, next time he visits," Hermione answered.

Richard shifted his eyes away, and Hermione was immediately suspicious. Richard didn't know a _thing_ about keeping a secret, did he? Hermione immediately began to wonder if Sirius had been talking to the Oliveiras about his moving to San Francisco. What he would do once he got there, Hermione couldn't imagine.

Sirius took Catalina and Richard on a tour of the house, while Teddy and Winnie were setting the table for the lunch their parents had been making. It was to be a very light meal, just some cold cuts and snacks, because Harry was planning to make a huge dinner. He wanted to surprise Catalina with some of her own favourite recipes that he remembered from living with her.

Hermione and Harry took the opportunity to corral their own very rambunctious little one and introduce him to some semblance of cleanliness and order before the meal. Harry took him into the bathroom to make sure he was actually washing his hands instead of just running the water, so Hermione just happened to be standing in the hall when Sirius brought Richard and Catalina back downstairs.

"What do you think?" Sirius asked anxiously.

"It's lovely," Catalina answered.

"I think it's great," Richard pronounced.

"You don't think it's a bit, er, unusual? Or crowded? Or anything?"

Hermione had never seen or heard her so-called "father-in-law" sound so unsure about anything. She began to wonder if things with Catalina weren't as strained and difficult as she'd been assuming.

"It is unusual, but that's not a bad thing," Catalina said with assurance. "I think it's nice, that you have so much family with you. Even when you were younger, you always talked about Remus like a brother, and it's wonderful that you've been able to stay close."

"But if what we're talking about—"

"There would be some adjustments, of course. Perhaps the easiest thing, though, would be to look for a home near the school where I would be teaching. I cannot travel so far and fast as you and my son, after all. It is more important for me to be close to work than for you."

Hermione grabbed her husband and child and yanked them out of the hallway, hushing them. She was wide-eyed as she realized what she was hearing. She told James to go play in the sparring room for a few minutes (because it was covered in padding and he would find it difficult to come to harm), and pulled Harry into the study.

"Harry, I think they're back together," she whispered.

"What? Who?" She rolled her eyes. "Sirius and Catalina, who else?"

"Back together, you really think so?"

"Harry, I just heard them talking. About how they might need to look for a home. Here. For both of them."

Harry was grinning. "I knew it, I totally knew it. Sirius has been freaking out about their visit ever since they decided to do it. And he and Richard are getting along so well that I _knew_ it had to be her that was making him nervous."

"If it's true, how would you feel about it?" she asked him, since it _was_ his godfather they were talking about—his having a new family might be harder on him than he was letting on.

Harry was still grinning. "You're kidding, right? I've been hoping this would happen as soon as I got that letter from Richard a few months ago. I thought all this time that we would be losing Sirius, that he would move there. I was prepared for that. But this would be so much better, because this way Catalina and Richard get the support of our gigantic family."

"I assume they're trying to keep this quiet, right now. Should I say anything, about what I overheard?"

"No," Harry answered. "Let them think it's a secret. I'm going to have fun pretending to be surprised when they do say something."

Hermione gave him a stern look. "You have a son to set an example for."

"I'm going to show him exactly what a snarky troublemaker looks like," Harry agreed. "I'm a very good example of that."

She glared at him, but his preferred method of ending disagreements was kissing her. It was hard to argue with someone so talented.

* * *

The sparring room had continued its existence these twelve years, now and then being used to teach a few things to Teddy or give self-defense lessons to one of Simon's various girlfriends. Simon had retained enough interest that he and Harry went and found a martial arts studio they could both attend in London, and they sometimes got together at Grimmauld Place with Sirius so they could all have a little fun.

It was a handy place for Harry to drag Richard, when he decided they needed to talk. Just the two of them.

"I thought you might need to get away for a while," Harry said with a smile. "I know the family can be a little overwhelming."

Richard laughed a little. "There's more of them than I'm used to," he admitted. Grimmauld Place had retained its status as the true gathering place for all of them, but they were all just as comfortable with Thistle Ridge, with the Potter's Willow Cottage, and Simon and Grace's as-yet-unnamed home. Richard had been making a circuit of each home for the past several days, and Harry was right—he could use some breathing space.

"Sirius tells me that Miguel's been training you. Didn't know if you'd want to work out a little."

Richard looked around the room with a smile. "This is cool. I can't believe you actually keep a room here just for this." He stepped closer to the pictures. "Is that Remus, that wolf there?" "Ah, no, that's a guy named Manfred. He was one of the guys in the werewolf network Sirius started up in Austria."

Richard moved on to the next picture and gaped. "That's my mom."

"I know," Harry smiled. "This was the room where we used to keep all the reminders of our old life. Your mom was a huge part of it. I assume you know how young I was when my own mother died?"

Richard nodded, trying not to feel guilty for knowing that.

"Catalina's the only mother I've ever really known. I never wanted to forget her."

Richard didn't know what to say. But Harry wasn't quite finished yet.

"Listen, Richard. I brought you in here so I could say something, and I just . . ." Harry turned his face away, looking at the kimono they still had on one wall. "I need to apologize to you."

Richard was stunned. "What? Why?"

"I don't know if you've figured this out yet, but I'm the reason you didn't have a father when you were growing up. Sirius left Catalina behind because of me. And I really need to tell you how sorry I am that I came between you two and him. You should have been together. I'm sorry."

Richard shook his head violently. He'd been warned about Harry, about the way his "brother" took everything on himself. Even if this was, technically, true, that didn't mean Harry had the right idea at all.

"No, don't be. It wasn't like that—"

"Richard," Harry cut him off, turning to him with a brittle look. "I know, okay? I know what it's like to be the kid at school whose dad didn't stick around. My aunt and uncle told me that my dad was an alcoholic wastrel, so I know what it's like to be that kid. Maybe it gets easier as you get older, but that's something I wouldn't know, because I took your father away from you."

"No, you didn't," Richard said firmly. "Maybe it hurt, when I was a kid. So what? Now we've found each other, and it doesn't matter anymore. It wasn't your fault, and nobody blames you for it. Okay? Nobody thinks you have to apologize. Least of all me. I'm happy that it's working out now, and that's all I care about."

Harry didn't believe him, that was obvious. But maybe he'd figure it out, eventually. Richard would make him understand, because he didn't like Harry beating himself up over this.

"Come on, let's just get this over with," Richard said, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his undershirt, and toeing off his shoes. "I know you're going to kick my ass."

Harry shook off his melancholy, and gave Richard a grin. He pulled off his own shoes. "Probably. Should be fun."

It was.

* * *

Christmas was an experience unlike anything Richard had known before. On alternating years, it was either just him and Mama at home because they didn't have any family in town, or they went to spend the day at Miguel and Ellen's.

Now, it was a multi-day affair. Harry, Hermione, and James went to Thistle Ridge on Christmas Eve to help Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson put together a party for the teenagers who lived in the home, and they invited Richard to come along with them. Richard was introduced to several of the students of Hogwarts, which was interesting. Sirius had given him and Mama a tour of the school, but Richard was eager to ask questions from people who actually attended. They were just as eager to ask about American wizarding education, and a couple of them were really interested in his literature class and the advanced coursework.

That was when Hermione got what Harry called "a dangerous look in her eye," and Harry reminded her that _he_ was the one in charge of the Department of Education right now. She told him with a smirk that what she was thinking of was a discussion better had with Headmistress McGonagall. Richard wondered what she was thinking, but it got lost in all the holiday cheer.

Then there was Christmas Day. Wow.

Richard and his mother were hardly even noticed as additions to the crowd gathered. There were six Lupins, if you were including Simon Billings and his new bride Grace, the three Potters, Sirius, and then Neville and Veronica Longbottom were there, and Draco and Mathilde Malfoy, and their two-year-old daughter Solene, were in England this year as well. They spent every other Christmas in France—apparently just so they could get away from Narcissa Malfoy once in a while.

The kids tended to make Richard's head spin. Teddy was ten going on thirty-five, so he was content to sit at the table and make polite conversation, but his sister Winnie, and Solene, and James (who, unable to figure out the family connection, had decided to call him Uncle Richard), made more than enough noise to make up for Teddy's unnatural maturity. He was incredibly grateful when all four of them decided they were done eating and ran off to do something more exciting.

Draco Malfoy was the one who noticed Richard slump in relief at their exit, since he was seated directly across from him.

"Just think," he said with a glint of laughter, leaning over what remained of the gravy, "Mathilde and I are trying for a boy, and Veronica has actually admitted aloud that she's ready to think about children. Who knows what Simon and Grace have in mind? Next year, there might be three more of them."

Richard took solace in simply having a single conversation to focus on. "Is it really judgmental to say that the Longbottoms don't seem like the parental type?"

He just laughed at that—it was the sort of hearty-but-not-annoying laugh that had to be practiced, and Richard took notice of it. "They're both complete softies underneath the rough exterior, believe me."

"I'm not sure I do, Mr. Malfoy," Richard said with smirk, since just at that moment, Veronica was telling a story about a tough assignment that had led to her needing all the bones in her arm regrown.

His wife overheard, and her tinkling little laugh was just as cultivated as his. "Oh, _ma chere_, you surely are not going to let him call you that?"

"I don't see why not," he answered with offended dignity.

She pinched the back of his hand lightly, and smiled at Richard. "I had to learn it, myself, so perhaps I can be the one to show you. The people who come to this house, they are family. You don't have to say things like Monsieur Lupin or Madame Malfoy when you are with family."

Richard had been told much the same by Remus and Dora, but he was stubborn about proving that his mother had raised him to be polite, so he continued to use the proper form of address until told otherwise. Besides, these two sort of invited it, being international businesspeople and almost ridiculously sophisticated and all. It was one thing to find out you were related to famous people, it was another to find out that automatically made you friends with millionaires.

"Fine, you can call me Draco," the blond man grumbled, but then he smiled. "So, tell me something about yourself, Richard. I've had my ear talked off about you from Harry and Hermione, but I just wondered what you might have to say."

Feeling rather put on the spot, Richard fumbled for an answer, but Mathilde Malfoy came to his rescue.

"He's always doing this," she said, rolling her eyes. "He never stops being in his business mindset. What he is really trying to say is that they have said such good things about you that he is ready to recruit you for Turncoat Enterprises."

Richard's eyes widened. "Oh. Um. I really don't think . . . My school only does Potions through second-level, anything further is optional. I haven't really . . . I was thinking about doing a course during my final year."

Draco looked horrified. "Harry!" he called out across the several dinner conversations taking place. His wife was pinching him again. "Do you realize that your brother, here, has almost no Potions training?"

Harry began to wear the same horrified look. "I assume you're thinking the same thing I'm thinking."

"Research facility, starting tomorrow?" Draco asked with an expressive eyebrow quirked upward.

"Definitely."

"What are you talking about?" Mama cut in, looking amused. "You want to do research on my son?"

"No, this is an emergency intervention. We have to teach him as much as we can before you go home next week."

Sirius and Mama both gave Harry very level looks, but Richard was grinning.

"I'm in," he said.

"You are?" Sirius asked in surprise.

"Yeah," he said enthusiastically. "Getting taught Potions by these two? First teenager to successfully brew Wolfsbane, and the Potions Master for the Order of the Phoenix? How cool is that?" Sirius laughed. "I guess you're going to need to get up to speed, anyway," he mused. "If you want to be in fifth year with your peers."

Richard nodded.

"What do you mean, Sirius?" Hermione asked, but the sly look on her face was strange. Like she already knew the answer.

Sirius and Mama looked at one another, which made Remus and Dora look at one another, which made Simon and Grace look at one another. It made Harry and Hermione both grin like crazy people. So they already knew, Richard thought with amusement. They were both very observant people, after all. Draco and Mathilde were taking their cues from their friends, and beginning to smile as well.

"Richard is going to be attending Hogwarts next autumn," Sirius said. "So he's going to have to work very hard to be sure he is ready for his OWL year. He can likely use whatever help Draco and Harry can give him. And me, of course."

"But Catalina, it would be so hard on you to have him so far away," Hermione said, but she was still smiling. Because she _did_ know, somehow.

"Oh, didn't I say?" Sirius asked airily. "She's going to be moving to England, as well."

"Oh?" Hermione choked.

"Because she and I are going to be getting married," Sirius grinned, raising Mama's hand to his lips and pressing a kiss there. It made Richard blush, but he was glad to see it.

Harry suddenly stood up, eyes wide. "_What_?"

The smile froze on everyone's faces.

"You're getting _married_?" he repeated, like he didn't believe it. "Whatever," he growled, and strode out of the room.

Richard felt sick. Slightly dizzy, he fixed his eyes on his mostly empty plate. After what they'd said in the sparring room, he'd thought . . . He'd thought it would be okay.

"I'm sorry," Sirius was saying to Mama. "I didn't think he would—"

"Go talk to him," she urged, waving him away, and Sirius jumped up from the table.

That's when Hermione let loose her laughter. She was just dying with it, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. They all stared at her.

"You f-f-fell for it," she gasped.

Harry reappeared in the doorway, laughing like a maniac, and he hurried over to put his arm around his very pale godfather. "Really, Sirius, I thought you knew better."

"Knew better?" he repeated faintly.

"Remember? The rock band I was going to be in? My drunken foursomes? You know better than to believe a word I say," he was wheezing. "Hermione accidentally overheard you two talking about this days ago, and I've been planning this ever since. My god, Sirius, your face . . ."

"I hate you so much," Sirius mumbled, and sank back into his seat. "I thought you were angry or something."

"Are you kidding?" Harry said, and moved to give Mama a huge hug. "I'm so happy for you guys. I think it's great, that you'll be coming here. I'm so excited that I'll get to see more of you."

Richard was only now beginning to find this funny, and let out a weak laugh. "You scared the hell out of me!" he called out. "Just for that, you have to get me up to speed on magical creatures and Herbology, too."

"You're going to regret asking me," Harry vowed. "I'm a slave driver."

Richard just crossed his arms. "I can handle anything you dish out."

"We'll see about that. Draco?" Harry said.

Draco nodded. "See you tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp."

"_Eight_?" Richard gasped. "I'm on _vacation_!"

Hermione gave Harry's arm a gentle slap. "Oh, be nice."

"Eight-thirty, then."

Hermione shrugged, giving Richard a helpless look. "Good luck."

"You're going to need it," Simon muttered, shooting a look at Draco. "He's impossible."

"I'm impossible?" Draco squawked. "Who was it that deliberately tried to blow up my lab last week?"

"I told you you'd regret hiring me," Simon shot back, grinning.

Mathilde shook her head. "You are so sure that you want to be part of this family?" she asked Richard in a dry tone.

Richard felt a warmth spreading through him as he watched all the people at the table teasing, smiling, trading kisses with their spouses . . .

"Absolutely."

_

* * *

_

_There is a warning at the top of the next chapter. READ IT._


	28. Encore: Son of Stars

**VERY IMPORTANT! READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING!**

**This very short installment is the end of the story. But if you read it, it will drive you crazy. You can call yourself finished after the ending of the third epilogue section, the one entitled "The Final Piece." I wrote this because it would not leave my mind, and I had to get it out there. It is what I imagine would happen next in the story.**

**HOWEVER.**

**It paves the way for a very long and involved sequel. One I have **_**no intention of writing**_**. I like to imagine the rest, but I have absolutely zero plans to actually write it down. I leave it up to your imagination. If you don't have a problem with never knowing what comes next, then by all means, read this. If it would drive you crazy, then don't read this final bit. Because I am not going to be writing anything else in the Wise One series. This is all.**

**That having been said, I have an announcement. I do have a couple of projects that I am working on. I am going to post a sample chapter of these projects in about a week. Based on the responses I get, I will decide which one to continue for this site. So, if you have an interest in my next writing project, put me on author alert, and make your opinion known when I post those samples!**

**Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. It's been an incredible journey.**

* * *

Never had a year at Hogwarts started out so well. At least, that was Sirius' opinion as he shrugged into his robes, which he wore precisely once per year because Minerva begged him to be presentable at the Welcoming Feast. His usual jeans and motorcycle boots, however, not being up to his new wife's standards of dress for a professional teacher, might not be making an appearance this year.

But he was happy, even if he was going to be forced into uniform. Exceedingly happy. He was a married man, and his son was even now travelling in the carriages from the train station to the school. Richard might think his happiness was dampened by the kid's Sorting, but it wasn't. He'd tried to apologize for it, of all the stupid things.

"_Slytherin," the Hat announced. Minerva gave Sirius a look of shock, but Sirius just shrugged._

_Richard pulled the Hat off and handed it politely to the headmistress, his eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. Maybe I could have asked if I could—"_

"_You're going to do great there," Sirius said, putting his hands on his son's shoulders. "It's Black family tradition, you know. I'm just glad you're not a rebel like me, my hair's going gray fast enough already."_

"_It's okay?" Richard asked humbly._

"_Of course it is. It isn't your house that matters, it's your choices. If you can be in Slytherin and also do what's right, then you have nothing to be ashamed of."_

_Richard smiled, slumping in his seat in relief. "I thought I might be Slytherin," he admitted. "I was worried that you would—"_

"_You're my son, Richard, and I love you. I'm proud of you."_

_Richard smiled even wider. "Thanks, Dad."_

That was the first time he'd ever called Sirius that. Sirius had managed not to burst into tears right then and there, but later, when he'd told Catalina about it, he might have, just maybe, cried a little. When he'd told the rest of the family about Richard's Sorting, they'd been far more supportive than he'd expected. Draco, of course, was ecstatic. Sirius was surprised he hadn't already made a nameplate for Richard's office at the U.S. division of Turncoat, just to have it all ready for when Richard graduated. (Hell, maybe he had.)

"Evening, Minerva," he said, taking his seat at the staff table, watching the students pouring in. He hadn't noticed until just now how noisy and unpredictable this lot was. He hoped Richard wasn't totally overwhelmed.

"Relax, Sirius," the headmistress said, smiling at him. "He's already done this at his old school."

"Right," Sirius said, and carefully put down the fork he was clutching in a tight fist. "Thanks."

"He's a very bright boy, Sirius. He's going to acquit himself very well, I'm sure."

"So am I," Sirius agreed.

He'd just started to tell her a funny story about something that had happened over the summer when they heard the faint echo of a scream, out in the entrance hall. They both stood up, and Prudence Puckle, the current Muggle Studies teacher, ran into the room, her eyes fixed on Sirius. He bounded down to her, meeting her about halfway.

"Your son just collapsed," she panted. "Fainted or something."

Sirius had run this quickly only once before in his life. The night of the Battle of Hogwarts. He was at his son's side almost before Prudence had finished speaking, carefully lifting Richard's head onto his lap, laying his rough hand against one pasty-coloured cheek.

"Richard," he said softly.

Richard's eyes began to flutter open.

"What happened?" Sirius asked, looking around for anyone who might be able to answer. Septimius Laforge, otherwise known as Tim, was standing right there and spoke up.

"I'm not sure, sir. We were just coming in from the carriages together, and he was fine. Mr. Filch started yelling at us for tracking mud inside, and then Richard just . . . passed out."

Sirius turned his eyes on Argus, who actually took a step back.

"Did you do something to my son?" he asked in a voice of the most careful control he could muster.

"Didn't do anything to anyone's son," Argus grunted. "Cept try to clean up their muddy footprints all over creation."

"Dad," Richard muttered. "Help."

"What? What is it?" Sirius asked, all other concerns forgotten, his eyes on Richard.

"Please make it stop."

"What do you mean?"

"The screaming. Make him stop screaming."

Sirius looked around with a frown. "Tim? Someone was screaming?"

"No, sir. Well, Patty did when he fell over, but that's all."

"Who was screaming?" Sirius asked Richard.

Richard had his eyes open now, and they fell on Argus. "Him."

Argus looked just as puzzled as everyone else.

"Right," Sirius said, and picked Richard up in his arms. "It's off to the hospital wing with you, to get this figured out."

"So embarrassing," Richard mumbled, and tried to get away from him.

"Nothing doing, kid. You stay put until we figure out what happened."

Richard was now fully back to consciousness, and he slipped down out of Sirius' arms as soon as they'd rounded a corner away from the other students.

"I don't need to go to the hospital," he argued, frowning. "I'm fine."

"You're hearing things and passing out, I don't call that fine," Sirius said sharply.

"Just don't, okay? I know what happened, and it's not a big deal."

"You do? What, then?"

Richard scowled at him, but Sirius wasn't about to let it go at that. No way in hell.

"I just heard some screaming, and it bothered me, and it made me feel kind of funny," he said. "That's all."

"But nobody was screaming," Sirius said. "Least of all Argus Filch."

"I know he wasn't doing it out loud. Never mind. I'm fine, really. I want to go back to the Great Hall."

"Okay," Sirius said carefully. "I don't want your first night totally ruined, so I'll let you go in there and have dinner with your classmates, but we need to talk about this again later, okay?"

Minerva appeared, rounding the corner, her green robes sweeping out behind her. "Is everything all right?" she asked.

Sirius explained the situation as best he could while Richard did his best to disappear into the wall. Minerva gave him a sharp look.

"I've heard of something similar from Poppy," she mused. "Certain Healers, when they reach a certain level, claim that they can hear acute pain in their patients. As if they heard a scream or cry."

"Do you think that's what it is?" Sirius asked, feeling somewhat relieved to have even that much of an explanation. Richard was looking interested, now, too.

"Richard? Has this ever happened before?"

His face closed down, and he turned his eyes away. "Once."

"Tell me about that."

"No thank you, ma'am," he said as politely as he could.

"Did you pass out that time?" Sirius prodded.

"No," Richard said shortly.

"Can you excuse us, Minerva?" Sirius asked, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt. She acquiesced graciously, and he turned back to his son with a dangerous look. "Okay, Richard. You and I haven't had any major conflicts yet, but I will make this one if that's the way you want to go. Or I'll call your mother." He flinched at that. "Or you could tell me without being forced to."

Richard shrugged. "When it happened before, I lost a good friend of mine."

"Lost?" Sirius asked, hoping it didn't mean what it usually meant.

"We were friends from school. I went to visit him during the summer. He had a younger brother that he introduced me to, and that's when I thought I heard screaming. It sounded so bad, like somebody was in such awful pain. I couldn't stay around his brother. And it happens that his brother's a Squib. They thought I was prejudiced against Squibs, because I didn't know how to explain it, so they got really mad at me, and we weren't friends anymore. And then a whole bunch of people at my school got the idea that I was a bigot, too, so that's why I wasn't very sad about leaving that school to come to Hogwarts. I don't have a problem with Squibs. I just can't listen to screaming like that. The one I heard tonight was even worse. It was like somebody was dying."

Sirius was beginning to feel very, very bad about this. "Did anybody tell you that Mr. Filch is a Squib?" he asked slowly.

Richard started. "No," he gasped. "But . . . What if that means . . . I don't hate Squibs! I don't hate anybody! I mean, I'm a half-blood myself, so how could I? Don't tell anyone, please Dad."

Sirius gathered his son up into a hug. "Listen. I believe you. And we're going to get to the bottom of this, okay? Don't worry about it, for now. You go ahead and join the feast, and have fun making some new friends, and I won't say a word to anybody, except Minerva. Tomorrow night, after you get finished with classes, I want to have Poppy examine you. Okay? This isn't to punish you or anything. This is just because I'm concerned about you. I just want to make sure nothing's wrong."

Richard groaned. "I don't want to be weird."

"Nobody does," Sirius assured him. "But I thought you were pretty special, already. Just try not to worry about it for now, okay? We'll deal with it together. You, your mom, and I. You'll be fine." Richard nodded, and Sirius patted him on the back. "Run along, then. Things should just be getting started."

Richard did, probably already coming up with some kind of excuse for why he'd fainted to tell Tim and the other guys he'd be sitting with. He was good at recovering quickly, at smoothing over bad situations. Sirius had been suspecting he'd Sort into Slytherin for quite some time. And he wasn't bothered by it, not really. Maybe he was just getting old.

This new scare was making him feel positively ancient. What was wrong with Richard?

* * *

Sirius was in his office, making sure everything was ready for his first class, and trying to come up with a logical way to explain the night's events to his wife. She was likely to freak out when she found out her son had a fainting spell and no one had called her. But Sirius knew Richard would never get over the embarrassment of being yanked away from the feast so his mother could assure herself that he was all right.

Poppy's preliminary, cautious opinion was that it was some variation of what she'd been told about upper-level Healers. That perhaps Richard was able to hear whatever genetic twist allowed a non-magical person to be born to magical parents. While inconvenient, it didn't sound like a serious problem. That was what Sirius was planning to assure Catalina of.

He had a newspaper article out on his desk, one that had been making him smile every time he saw it. He didn't feel like smiling tonight, but he did anyway. It was a very simple and descriptive title: "Ten Years Later." It was a series that Trudy Weasley was doing for the _Daily Prophet_, one a week until the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, interviews with some of the most famous of the participants. She'd interviewed her own husband pretty early on, and Sirius was supposed to be sitting down with her this weekend. He knew Ron and Parvati would appear, as would most of the people who'd been prefects back then, and of course his own entire family would show up at some point. Neville and Veronica would be the mid-November article, and she planned to do Harry and Hermione as the article for the actual anniversary edition.

This week was Jeremy and Ad's turn, and there was a photo of them with the five kids currently living at Thistle Ridge, all of them hard at work in the garden over the summer. James Potter, cheeky little sprite, was also in the picture, halfway up a tree, waving and sticking his tongue out. He'd thought Hermione was going to have a heart attack when she saw the photo that proved her four-year-old was climbing trees that he was only too likely to fall out of.

Something shuffled at the door of his office, and his head shot up. He half-expected Richard, even though his son had gone off with Tim and the other Slytherins looking healthy and cheerful. But it was Sybill Trelawney. Odd.

"Sybill, what can I do for you?" he asked. He'd never really been able to like her, what with her prophecy being the reason for everything that had gone wrong in his and Harry's lives. Not her fault, and not reasonable of him, but still . . . Okay, she was also a crazy old bat.

She stepped into the room, with her forehead drawn together and her eyes distant.

"Sybill? Are you all right?"

Her hands clamped down on a chair, and her eyes rolled back in her head. When she spoke, her voice was deep, guttural, raspy.

"_Wake the sleepers, o son of stars. For a long darkness descends, and you must stand in its way. Go to the depths to learn its secrets, and there discover the power of a world beyond worlds. Only with power and with the strength of the sleepers will darkness be driven away. Wake the sleepers, o son of stars_."

Sybill jerked suddenly, released the chair. "Sirius," she said with her usual smile. "I have quite forgotten why I came to your office. How strange. Perhaps I meant to inquire if your son is feeling better?"

Sirius was across the room and glaring at her in a second. "Stay away from my son," he whispered, just barely holding back his need to make her a puddle of magical goo. "Don't ever speak to him."

Sybill fled the room, and Sirius fell to his knees.

"Not again," he groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Please, not again."


End file.
